


But Where is My Reality?

by godtiermeme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, F/F, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Mute Dave Strider, Past Abuse, Sentience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-01-28 17:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 50,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12611816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: The artificial island territory of Skaia has been the center of technological innovation for decades. Their lifelike Kobian androids are coveted for their humanity, yet reviled for their tendencies to grow far more sentient than anyone could ever dream of. Androids, once the pride of Skaia, are now reviled; resentment is growing. As unrest grips the population, human-on-android violence increases.This isn't a story about teaching a robot how to love. This is a tale of robots teaching people what it means to love.(This is a rewrite of an earlier fic.)





	1. Kaneda (金田)

**Author's Note:**

> This is partially inspired by _Metropolis_ (the Katsuhiro Otomo version, not Fritz Lang's). Each chapter is a song title, and I'll link to the songs in the summaries.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Kaneda's Theme / Kaneda](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpDvtIt6Lsc)"** by Geinoh Yamashirogumi (芸能山城組), _AKIRA_ (1988)

**31 DEC 2050:** Anvil Repairs is a relatively small shop. It occupies the lower floor of NWSB-413, and is one of many combination commercial and residential venues. The store has a rustic brick facade, though its back is made of a modern concrete composite material. The front window is polished on a daily basis, though the smog, which weighs down on the air like a veil of lead, leaves the glass an inky green. Nonetheless, the golden lettering is more than legible against this grimy backdrop. Beneath the store’s name, written in smaller, finer print, is additional information: “A brother-sister venture, established 2250.”

Inside, there’s a bored-looking man. His skin is remarkably pale, and his neatly combed hair is a shade of golden blond that seems almost too deep to be natural. Reflective black sunglasses hide his eyes, which are focused on the trail of smoke rising from the pulsating red tip of his cigarette. The clothes he wears are dirty—grease and oil stain them like spots on a Dalmatian—and a scuffed badge is affixed to his right breast pocket. “Hello! My name is Dave Strider!”

At this very moment, he mans the front desk. He’s been doing so for the past few hours, but not many customers have arrived. In fact, it’s been this way for months. Though the nonplussed expression on his face hides it well, the truth is that the store is failing. Few people bother coming to this side of town and, when they do, they’re not looking for robot repairs; they’re looking for what the two stores on either side of Anvil Repairs offer. To the left, there’s a brothel; to the right, there’s a bar.

So, when the door opens, Dave reacts with understandable surprise. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes drift to it. He cocks his head to the side, then disappears through the door against the back wall. After a few minutes, he reemerges.

Now, there’s a woman. She bears a remarkable resemblance to Dave, though her features are rounder and her skin tanner. She is more put together, and the name tag affixed to the lapel of her clean gray jacket is flawless. “Hello! My name is Rose Lalonde!”

Both Rose and Dave eye the newcomer warily. Their skin is a deep, rich medium brown, and their wavy black hair is cut in a messy mid-length style. They're a stout build, relatively full lips, and a scowl that could kill even the most seasoned contestants in the Who’s More Pissed Off contest. Though, by all outward appearances, this is a human, one thing betrays the artificial nature. The eyes pulsate a gentle red, and quiet whirring noises can be heard from time to time as the cameras adjust. For now, the customer is content with looking at what’s on display, and they seem particularly interested in the newest line of Life Wax, a substance used to maintain the illusion of lifelike human skin. (It’s a sort of lotion, which, when applied to most artificial skin, gives it a sense of warmth and added texture.)

“Hello!” Rose is the first of the three to speak. She offers the newcomer a thin, but sincere, smile. “Are you looking for something in particular, or do you simply wish to browse our wares?”

The android quirks their brow. “My name is Karkat Vantas, male Kobian model KA-RKT.”

“Lovely.” Rose’s smile fades, though she maintains a welcoming stance.

Meanwhile, Karkat continues. His eyes slowly scan the room, eventually settling on Dave. “I was told that this place was nice. What a fucking lie, huh? This is a load of irradiated, putrid shit.” Though there’s an electronic growl behind his words, his voice is otherwise smooth. It hovers in the middle of vocal pitches, and it’s dripping with emotion. “Do you know of anywhere I could get some tune ups done?”

“We offer those,” responds Rose.

Karkat nods. He buries his hands in the pockets of his worn out black slacks. Again, his eyes sweet around the room, and his gaze falls upon Dave. “What about that jackass? He doesn’t say much, does he?”

To this, Dave offers an indignant huff.

Rose, meanwhile, smiles. It’s the sort of fake expression one gives an annoying customer.

Dave responds by moving his hands. The motions are precise, calculated, and meaningful; it’s not just random gesturing. In fact, the android notices this. _“For a verifiable assload of reasons, I don’t talk.”_

And, when Dave stops signing, Karkat responds in turn. He raises his right hand and holds it at a height roughly even with his shoulder. The palm faces out, and he forms two distinct handshapes. And ‘O’ and a ‘K’. Then, he speaks. “Judging from your disgruntled bitching, I’m guessing you can hear.”

_“No shit, Sherlock.”_ Dave folds his arms across his chest for a moment and continues to stare at the plain plaster ceiling. _“Well, then, what do you need? I don’t need you stinking up the entire fucking store any longer than necessary.”_

By now, Rose has decided to leave the two men to their bickering. Without a word, she slips back through the door she came from. Neither man nor machine notice this change.

In fact, Karkat is busy responding to Dave. A sneer is spread across his face, and his brows are furrowed in annoyance. “Oh, cry me a fucking river. I haven’t seen anyone for servicing in years, so you’re not going for a walk in the Easy, Quick Repair Park. Diagnostics is fucking screaming at me to get a software upgrade and physical exam.”

Now, Dave removes his sunglasses. He clips them to his shirt, and his reddish-brown eyes lock onto Karkat. The edges of his lips are turned upwards, forming a small, insincere smile. (“The faster you’re gone, the happier I’ll be. We’re not all that busy, but this won't exactly be a quick job. I have to figure out what model we’re working with, and then handle the maintenance. Rose can do the software upgrades pretty quickly, though, so that’s one pile of shit out of the toilet.”)

“Use that turn of phrase again, and I will shove your over-inflated head into a toilet,” Karkat responds. He takes a step forward, though it doesn’t do much to intimidate Dave. The android is six inches shorter than the blond.

In fact, as Dave listens to this response, his smug expression grows. With the index finger and thumb of each hand, he forms a ‘W’. He holds this out in front of his chest. ( _“Whatever.”_ The manner in which this is done shows his insincerity.) He opens his mouth, though all that comes out is a monosyllabic reply. “Hah.”

Karkat blinks. He pinches the bridge of his prominent, slightly hooked nose, and rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t have to deal with this if I just went to Blanc and Rouge. They’re reputable, fast, and they’re not goddamned assholes.”

A shrug. After running his fingers through his hair, Dave replies. _“They’re all the way across the Skaia barge.”_

“As if I hadn’t fucking noticed this. I have the ability to process things far more complex than your paltry organic lump can ever fucking dream of. I can recognize a simple logistic error.” Karkat’s voice grows louder in direct proportion to his frustration.

Meanwhile, Dave grows less interested with every passing second. He pauses. After a few moments, he shrugs. _“My ‘paltry organic lump’ sure as fuck isn’t the brightest one, so you’re right! You’ve insulted me deeply. Your words wound me grievously.”_ His signing is loose and imprecise, now, and the apathetic expression on his face imbues it with a heavy dose of sarcasm. As he concludes, however, he returns to appropriate signing form. His expressions once again line up with his phrases. _“Business-wise, we’re about to close. In case you haven’t noticed, what with that big goddamned computer mind of yours, it’s New Year’s Eve. Rose and I will be getting drunk as fuck, so come back tomorrow.”_

“The less I have to see your ugly face, the better,” Karkat says, throwing his hands in the air. He turns on his heel, then storms out of the store.

* * *

**1 JAN 2251:** When Karkat enters the store, he finds the same annoying, vaguely bedraggled blond man behind the counter. Their eyes meet, and the man responds by holding his hands out in front of him, at a height level with his shoulders. His index fingers point forwards, but move smoothly up, back, and inward, towards himself. ( _“Come here.”_ ) The expression on his face is enigmatic, and even the most complex of facial analysis capabilities fail to register any sort of emotion.

Nonetheless, Karkat complies. He approaches, leans his elbows against the polished metallic counter, and frowns. “Where’s the girl?” Now, he pauses. It dawns upon him that this was a rude turn of phrase, and he’s quick to correct it. “The less annoying, prettier of you two. Where is she?”

Dave shrugs. His right hand forms a relaxed ‘C’ and his left is held flat. Both are raised to shoulder height. The palm of his left hand faces to the right, while the palm of his left hand faces inward. A swift motion brushes the side of his left hand against the palm of his right. ( _“She’s out.”_ ) From here, he continues, albeit with a bit more expression. His brows are furrowed, and further analysis reveals a wariness in his gaze. ( _“What does it matter to you? Are you popping some sort of sprocket boner for her, because she’s not interested.”_ )

Karkat scowls. By law, androids are not to engage in anything more than professional relationships, be it between fellow androids or humans. “I’m classified as a medical unit, not a fucking pervert. I just think she’s less annoying, and I’d much rather be pestered by her than you.”

Dave shrugs. He rises to his feet and moves away from the counter, towards a shelf of haphazardly organized drawers. Though the labels likely don’t mean much, they’re indicative of the contents as a whole. He plucks the necessary supplies from their respective drawers with practiced ease. Once he has everything he needs, he gestures for the android to follow him.

The encounter leads to a small back room. It’s set up like a doctor’s office, with a rolling stool and an examination table. Karkat lays on the table, and lets forth a low, rumbling growl. “How long will this take, and why can’t the more pleasant one be doing this?”

Another shrug. _“She handles programs, I handle the nitty-gritty shit.”_ He picks up a scanner, which looks like a small camera affixed to a larger screen on its side, and holds it over his patient. (The machine is capable of projecting what is beneath the artificial flesh, much like an X-ray.) With a trained and attentive eye, he studies the resultant image. A thoughtful hum rises from his throat.

Nearby, a television rambles on and on about the current news. Normally, such matters don’t bother Karkat. Now, however, a particular comment catches his attention. He turns and, as he looks at the static laden image, the reporter speaks up. “Recent unrest over the newest Kobian release, the Touch line, has resulted in violence. Three guards at the company’s manufacturing plant were killed, as were fifteen protesters. Three nearby androids were dismantled by the crowd.”

The image cuts away from the sterile news room. Now, it shows a very angry woman. She stands in a field, with the robotics company’s headquarters in the background, and glares at the cameraman as if he’d personally murdered her entire family. “These robots are nothing but trouble,” she declares, her voice accented with a thick southern drawl, “If we don’t stop them, no one will!”

A sharp whistle draws Karkat’s attention away from the television. He turns, and his gaze falls upon an irate Dave Strider. The man’s eyes are narrowed, and his response is executed with pointed precision. _“Thanks for checking back into the world, jackass. You’ve got a verifiable truckload of shit I’ll need to fix up, so I recommend finding a place to stay.”_

“Fucking lovely. I—” Karkat is prepared to say more, but a variety of sounds distract him.

The front door of the shop opens, the bells on its handle ringing as it swings, and Rose’s muffled voice comes through the door. “No, no, it’s no problem! I am more than happy to help you, ma’am. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

An unfamiliar female voice responds. Though it’s not easy to tell, Karkat’s programming allows for him to immediately recognize that the speaker is an android. Nonetheless, the voice is a mid-pitched, melodious sound. The words are spoken with a careful attention to pronunciation. “Please, call me Kanaya. You really don’t mind if I stay here for a while?”

“Oh, of course not,” Rose chuckles.

Dave groans. He snatches a scalpel from the nearby desk and slices into the skin around Karkat’s left eye. No blood is drawn, and no pain is felt. However, the blade scraping against the metal is unpleasant. When this is over, the resultant flap of skin is removed. Dave throws it into a nearby box, which is filled with similar scraps. Setting aside his tool, he addresses his patient. _“It looks like my sister took in another fucking android, so I might as well admit that we have a spare room. If you don’t mind sharing with a complete goddamned stranger, you can sleep here.”_

Karkat nods. He briefly considers his options. Staying at a hotel would mean less interaction with Dave. But, considering the local news, wandering around with part of his mechanical innards showing through a hole in the side of his head is a morbid, dangerous move. (He’s had a finger on the pulse of human-on-robot violence for a long, long time. He knows that it’s been increasing, and he has a feeling that it’s about to boil over. As an older model, his eyes already give him away. Having a chunk of metal showing is only going to draw more attention to him. A low, electronic hum escapes him. He runs his fingers through his hair and, with a great deal of reluctance, responds, “Fucking fine. I’ll stay with you all. Don’t think that it’s because I actually _like_ anything about here, though.”

_“That’s fair,”_ Dave nods. He turns back around, then begins to pick through his pile of supplies. After a few moments, he unscrews a panel on the side of Karkat’s head and starts working. When a small screw falls loose, or he removes a part, he places it in a small, tattered plastic bin at his side. He hums to himself, creating a tune that Karkat is unfamiliar with, though it’s not unpleasant to listen to. In fact, it’s nice. It’s soft, and there’s a lovely, leisurely beat to it.

The android closes his eyes, allowing Dave to work on him in silence.

* * *

**1 JAN 2251:** Rose Lalonde stands in the middle of the guest bedroom. It’s a fairly small space, but it comfortably fits two very plain twin beds. The sheets are dyed, though the colors have faded. The bed to the left is red, while the one on the right is a faded forest green. A window between the two beds looks out, towards the edge of the city. Through the gaps between the two blocks of buildings behind Anvil Repairs, the ocean is visible.

“It’s not exactly the epitome of luxury,” Rose says, “But I assume you don’t mind.”

Now, someone else speaks. She is tall, thin, and has dark, flawless skin. Her thick, tightly curled hair frames her face nicely, and her thick lips are coated with black lipstick. Though her appearance is otherwise human, her eyes give her away—around the pupils, a lime green light pulsates. “This is quite wonderful, actually.” She approaches the window and looks out, towards the churning waves. “This space is quaint. Enjoyable.”

Rose nods. For a moment, she forgets the name of the Kobian she’s speaking to, but it quickly returns to her. “I’m overjoyed to hear that you like the space, Kanaya. Do you need anything? I really must go and inform my irate brother that you’ll be staying for a bit.”

“I am perfectly fine, thank you!” Kanaya says, smiling sweetly.

Another nod. Rose turns, leaves, and wanders back downstairs. She walks with purpose, and she steps into Dave’s work area with gusto. “My dearest brother,” she says, her face never once betraying her sarcasm.

Dave, pausing only long enough to look up from his work, lets forth an irritable huff.

“On the way home, I encountered the most beautiful Kobian. She was being harassed by protesters, and I offered to lend her a hand. She is…”

Another grumble. Dave pivots the stool around to face his sister. _“I heard you earlier.”_ Now, he gestures towards Karkat. _“He’s staying here, too, so we’re even.”_

A delighted smile crosses Rose’s face. “Perfect!” Folding her hands behind her back, she departs.

Dave, meanwhile, returns to his work.


	2. Hyperspace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Hyperspace](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SaVz5djS26c)"** by John Williams, _The Empire Strikes Back_ (1980)

**2 JAN 2251:** From its place in the northeast corner of her room, Rose’s television rambles on and on. The newscaster—a short, balding man, by the name of Davis Douglas—discusses the current political climate. He makes confident assertions that the resentment towards androids is increasing, though these statements aren’t exactly groundbreaking. As far as Rose is concerned, anyone over the age of five can clearly see the rising tensions.

“With every new model they release, Kobian simply fuels the fire. At this point, they might as well pour gasoline on the flames and let it burn.” As she speaks, Rose continues to work on finding the latest software for Karkat. The task isn’t easy; the Mach 1 Kobian models had been recalled due to a tendency towards uncontrollable sentience. Upgrades are hard to come by, as are the programs necessary to clean out the accumulated clutter and obsolete files.

Kanaya, meanwhile, sits atop Rose’s bed. She toys with the plush pink covers, and offers a small nod. “My analysis of the situation concludes that the tensions are just too much. We’re looking at a rebellion.” She shrugs, apparently unaffected by the impending crisis. “Do you have a plan for when this occurs?”

“Dave and I have discussed this before, actually.” Rose pauses. She studies some of the text on her screen. After a few minutes, she continues, “Dave has a talent for music, while I am fascinated by traditional textile arts. I am particularly fond of knitting.”

This comment seems to stir something in Kanaya. She smiles, and the expression brightens not only her face, but the entire room. A warm feeling rises from Rose’s stomach, then settles on her cheeks, as Kanaya speaks. “Perhaps due to residual memory, I know the craft. I have always enjoyed creating things, though I find them of little use.”

“Perhaps we can have a cooperative knitting session, then?” Rose asks. Though she is mostly unaware of it, a bashful smile has crept onto her face.

Kanaya’s expression is similar. The edges of her lips have quirked upwards, and her hands idly tangle themselves in her hair. “That sounds absolutely delightful, to be honest.” Her gaze darts away from her host, whose fingers fly across the keyboard with speed and diligence. “So, has the unrest upset your business?”

“Certainly.” Rose shakes her head. “We’ve had less and less business lately, and we’re beginning to consider shutting down. There’s no purpose in maintaining a failing venture, now, is there?”

The smile on Kanaya’s face fades. “Perhaps not.”

From Rose, there’s a hum of agreement. She folds her hands across her chest and grins triumphantly. “And we have it!” She detaches a pink thumb drive from her computer. “That’s everything Dave needs! Please excuse me, I’ll return once I’ve delivered this to my pain-in-the-ass brother.”

“Take your time.” Kanaya waves.

* * *

 **2 JAN 2251:** Dave sits on the rolling bench in his workroom and toys with the thumb drive in his hand. The metallic pink casing has been worn smooth over the years, though scrapes mar its otherwise pristine surface. During the night, he’d read about the updates he’d be installing. He is, however, no computer genius, but he knows enough to give his usual speech. _“Before I do this, there are a few warnings.”_ Here, he prefaces the following commentary with a numerical indicator. He holds up two fingers, forming a ‘V’, to indicate that this will be a list. _“You might feel a bit weird when you wake up.”_ Having said this, he shifts his shoulders slightly and points to the index finger of his right hand. _“Anything I install has the potential to fail fucking catastrophically, so that’s a thing.”_ Another shoulder shift. He points to his middle finger. _“I am not liable for any damage that this may cause.”_

(He finds that, despite an abrasive personality, Karkat is easy to talk to. More often than not, patients and customers simply don’t know sign language. Communicating without the assistance of his sister is a powerful experience, and he’s keenly aware of how much he’ll miss being able to do so when Karkat leaves.)

“Well, that’s fucking new and different. What, you’re afraid I’ll sue your shit-covered ass if something goes haywire?” A low, rumbling, and slightly distorted laugh escapes Karkat. He rolls his eyes. “The putrid intestinal goop vomited into the street by some unknown drunkard has more societal value than me, Strider. I’d have better luck crawling back to Kobian and begging them to shut me down and recycle me for parts.”

To this, Dave simply shrugs. _“I’m just making sure, dude. You don’t need to get so damned pissed about it.”_

As per protocol, Karkat shuts down. The pulsating red light around his pupils fades, then goes out.

Dave plugs the thumb drive into an exposed port on the side of the android’s head. His eyes open, and begin to flash orange. Five seconds on, two seconds off. This is a consistent pattern, and it’s a standardized way for the operator to know that updates are being applied. After a few minutes, the flashing stops. For safety, Dave waits five additional minutes, then he removes the thumb drive. His finger searches through smooth, silky hair until it reaches the power button behind the left ear.

A few chirps. The eyes once again light up, though they now pulse their usual red color. Karkat sits up. A small frown plays at the edges of his lips. “Well, that was fucking dandy.”

 _“Did it work?”_ Dave asks the question by raising his brows and leaning his head forwards. This indicates that he’s looking for an answer, and not simply stating a fact. _“It must not have been a big one, because it went was a fast update. Usually, they take a minimum of an hour.”_ There’s a brief pause. Though Dave sees Karkat opening his mouth to respond, he still continues, _“I guess it’s because your model was halted faster than a guy carrying a nuclear warhead in his stupid arms. Updates aren’t frequent, and it seems that they’ve completely abandoned any further fixes.”_

“Do you usually ramble like this, going on and on about absolutely nothing, or is this just a thing you’re doing to annoying the ass-fucking shit out of me?” inquires Karkat, his frown shifting to a scowl.

Dave returns with a shrug. _“I like to talk. Well, not talk, but sign. I say lots of things. I talk about shit because I want to, and I’ll just keep chattering.”_

Though Karkat’s expression says otherwise, there’s a brief hint of a snicker. However, the audio is quickly and unceremoniously cut. “It’s a good thing you don’t talk. Your voice would be even more annoying, and it would definitely be harder to ignore.”

 _“You know that I can just refuse to repair you, right?”_ Dave waggles his brows as he signs this, though the rest of his face remains set in a perfectly neutral state.

Karkat, meanwhile, sighs. This isn’t a natural sigh, as early Kobian models didn’t include lungs. (Even modern ones forgo this costly and ultimately useless addition, though they feature a system to simulate breathing.) Rather, it’s a prerecorded sound, which plays in response to Karkat’s current emotions. His arms fold themselves stubbornly across his chest. “Fine. I’ll try to avoid inciting your unholy wrath from now on,” he jeers.

Both of Dave’s hands are held up, flattened, and the palms are facing toward one another. His elbows are bent at an angle slightly less than ninety degrees, and his forearms are parallel to one another. He sweeps them from one side of his body to the other, moving it a straight horizontal line. ( _”Plan.”_ ) Then, he holds his flattened left hand in front of his lips. Smirking, he moves it outward, bending at the elbow, and stops when the palm facing upwards at waist height. ( _”Good.”_ Though not grammatically correct when spoken aloud, it makes perfect sense in the context of his language. _“Good plan,”_ he says, quite sarcastically.)

* * *

 **2 JAN 2251:** Though he’s never before met the android he’s sharing a room with, it seems to Karkat that he knows her, somehow. Her voice is so familiar, as is the way she enunciates everything with such care. Perhaps, he knows her through old records. All Kobian androids have continuous access to the Kobian database, which hosts information about all currently operational units. When browsing late one night, he had likely come across her model number, perhaps even a demonstration video of her functionalities.

“I’m sure humans find it strange that we discuss ourselves in terms of model numbers when we meet, but I’m KA-NYA.” The woman extends her hand and, when Karkat accepts the gesture, her grip is firm. “I go by Kanaya. You?”

“Karkat. My model number is KA-RKT. I was assigned as a medical android.” Though he isn’t particularly fond of his memories of his time at Skaia’s Hope Hospital, Karkat remains proud of the work he did there. And, somewhere, in the deepest reaches of his mind, he feels as if there’s something even bigger. He senses that he’s done even greater work. He keeps such feelings to himself, though, and listens with rapturous attention to Kanaya’s reply.

“I was assigned as a childcare model,” she shrugs, seemingly indifferent to her personal history. There’s a brief pause, though she quickly resumes the discussion. “The RKT models were the earliest in the KA’s, right?”

If robots could blush, Karkat would be doing so. A bashful smile. A coy roll of the eyes. He folds his hands behind his back before replying, “I was one of the first Kobian androids ever made, yeah. No big deal.”

“I feel as though I should ask for your autograph,” Kanaya jokes.

Karkat laughs. It’s an uproarious, hearty sound. “It’s not that big of a deal. They’ve shoved plenty of minds into artificial bodies at this point.”

“Yes, but to create a robot from a human mind is one hell of a feat, isn’t it?” Kanaya’s smile is thought-provoking.

And, being who he is, Karkat takes the bait. There’s a brief lull in the discussion. As he considers his reply, he sits on the edge of his bed. He eyes the faded red sheets. “You’re not wrong. It might be some sort of grotesque fuck-mongrel of an accomplishment, making a human into an immortal machine, but it was revolutionary when it happened. I remember people bugging me all the goddamned time at the hospital, and I had to fend them off like rabid raccoons.”

“By the time I was around, it wasn’t so amazing.” Kanaya, too, sits on her bed. She folds her arms across her chest and falls backwards, into the sheets. “I suppose the novelty had worn off. Not that I cared. I assumed it would be much easier to care for children when their weird parents aren’t fawning over your innovative construction.”

“Yeah.” Karkat snickers. He begins to let his mind wander, which tends to result in him mindlessly browsing through the Kobian database. Before he can begin, though, he’s interrupted.

“Rose is quite lovely,” sighs Kanaya.

A frown serves as Karkat’s answer. “It’s against the law for androids to engage in relationships, Kanaya,” he cautions.

His newfound companion doesn’t seem to care. She hums thoughtfully, and runs her long, slender fingers through her hair. “I wasn’t initially implying that, Karkat, but… It’s not an entirely outlandish possibility.”

Though he opens his mouth to respond, Karkat ultimately decides against it.

What Kanaya does is her business, not his. He has no right to interfere in her life, much like she has no right to pry into his. And, honestly, he assumes neither of them have much ‘life’ to speak of. Though they’re both built from the minds of dead donors, their memories are locked away. After all, personal emotions were of no use to Kobian. People were buying functional, realistic servants, not replacement humans.

At least, for Karkat, all he knows of himself is what has happened since he woke as an android. He senses that something is wrong, but he’s unsure of what, exactly, that is.


	3. Origami Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Origami Birds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g8M8EK34bok)"** by Dario Marianelli, _Kubo_ (2016)

**3 JAN 2251:** The metal is warm beneath Dave’s hands. The heat radiates from the multitude of moving components and processors buried inside the protective shell, which provides an illusion of life in an otherwise cold body. Gears clack, motors hum, and springs twang. It’s an odd, cacophonous melody. A song. A beat. A feeling. It grabs Dave’s attention and refuses to let it go. It always has, ever since he was a child. The comparatively unrefined robotic servants, and their constantly whirring motors, were often the only outside connection Dave had when he was younger. Otherwise, he was locked away in his room. He was derided as a defect, and treated as a shameful secret. With all this considered, Dave has reason to believe that such noises will never fail to excite him.

However, Karkat’s voice has enough presence to pierce through some of these thoughts. “So, how long will this take?”

Dave tips the tips of his fingers to his his cheek, then twists his wrist, so that his flattened right hand swivels. At the same time, he moves his forearm forwards a bit. He shakes his head and shrugs. ( _“I don’t know.”_ ) There’s a brief pause, wherein he tries his best to calculate how long this will take. However, he finds that he can’t. There are too many factors, too many parts to be delivered. _“I can’t say. It could be a week, it could be a month. I have no fucking clue.”_

A disgruntled groan serves as the android’s reply. He turns away, looking towards the ceiling as Dave begins to rummage a hand around inside of his chest cavity. His arms move, presumably to cross, but drop to his sides.

Dave snickers, though he’s sure to keep his facial expression as neutral as possible. Withdrawing his hand from its place inside his patient, he comments, _“Hard to fold your arms across your chest when there’s an arm sticking inside of it, right?”_

“I fucking guess, you shit-snorting bastard.”

Silence falls upon the room. It’s not strained, nor is it unpleasant, but there’s a certain tenseness. It’s like someone gently pressing against your back, and it’s enough to make Dave retreat further into the rhythmic noises of the machinery.

Earlier, he had printed out the scans he’d taken on the first day. Now, he references them. His gaze falls upon one of many red circles. This one is around a worn out gear. Several others around it are functional, and its corresponding components still work, but he never likes to leave a broken part. Dave flicks on a light, which is attached to a bracelet on his right hand, and locates the gear. Its teeth have been worn smooth, and, though it rotates at it should, it does nothing. The repair is quick and simple. The offending piece is removed, and replaced with a fresh one. Many more useless gears are present, and Dave also fixes these. One by one, the useless parts are placed in a small bin. At first, they clack against the plastic. Not long after the work began, that clacking turns to clanging, as the variously sized components hit against one another.

Dave works with speed, precision, and care. He pays attention to details, and makes sure that everything he puts in place is there to stay. When such precautionary measures are through, he oils the gear. When he reaches the smaller repairs, he dons a pair of magnifying glasses. (As far as Dave knows, most repair places don’t do this. They rely on their natural sight, which Dave considers a massive mistake.)

Karkat, meanwhile, watches Dave work with far more interest than he believed he could ever muster. He considers the blond repairman to be little more than a pain in the ass. An astronomical annoyance, surely sent from hell solely to torture him. Yet, when Dave is working, there’s an undeniable grace to his actions. He knows what he’s doing, and he cares about his work.

In the past, Karkat has seen countless repairmen. None have ever stood out for their attention to detail, hence the sheer number of people he’s seen. Dave, however, is different; he wants his work to last. Perhaps, this is why the business is doing poorly. A good job won’t need to be redone for a while, and the increasing animosity towards everything associated with robotics doesn’t help.

One peculiarity Karkat notices about the man, though, rouses his curiosity. For all the precision and skill Dave has, he often avoids using his right hand to perform delicate tasks. In fact, when he needs to work on something small, he’ll always use his left hand. Personal preference? Medical reasons? Some sort of strange superstition? The reason is unknown, but Karkat files the observation away for further examination. If he continues to watch Dave, he’ll eventually uncover the truth.

“Hey!” Dave speaks aloud. His voice is hoarse, and his brows furrow as he vocalizes.

Karkat, now pried from the depths of his mind, quirks his brow. He looks ahead, and finds himself staring at the exposed inner workings of his left leg.

 _“There’s a part in here that I’ll need to order. Don’t worry, everything still works. This is just a maintenance thing. I have to replace this shit like it’s dressing on a wound. Can’t let it get too worn out, or you’ll be down a working knee.”_ Though he doesn’t elaborate, Karkat senses that the man knows a lot about his craft. _“It’s an elastic casing. It covers a few parts, making a fucking weird little upper shin hot dog, and it keeps them from getting too fucked up. The elastic on yours has deformed, so I’ll have to get more. We’re out.”_

“How long have you clueless fucks been out of elastic?” Karkat asks. He didn’t intend for his comment to be so antagonistic, but he resigns himself to the fact that it was.

Dave, meanwhile, shrugs. He chews on his lip, counts on his fingers, and eventually comes up with an answer. _“About a month. We had a shipment coming, but the delivery van was lit on fire by protesters.”_

A slow nod and a thoughtful hum serve as Karkat’s reply.

* * *

 **3 JAN 2251:** As a later Kobian model, Kanaya is equipped with a nervous system. Obviously, she has no point of comparison, but she’s told the feedback it provides is incredibly lifelike. At the very least, she can tell several things about the yarn in her hands. The thread is woven loosely, and the rough strands seem to unravel if one so much as looks at it the wrong way. Nonetheless, she continues to knit. Her needles clack together in time with Rose’s, and she finds herself stealing glances at the woman.

Of course, Kanaya knows how troublesome a relationship of any type will be. Androids—no matter how human they may be, and regardless of their ability to think for themselves—have been banned from having any sort of romantic relations. It has, according to records, been this way since the first Kobian KA models were rolled out, and it will presumably be the same for a long, long time. However, Kanaya doesn’t really care about such matters. She lives for herself, not for others, and she’s never been one to blindly follow someone’s lead.

Though it’s unnecessary, Kanaya produces a sound akin to clearing her throat. When she notices Rose looking at her, she smiles. “Knitting is a dying art, Rose. How did you get into it?”

The blonde, too, smiles. She shrugs, studies her own needlework, and seems to mull over the question. Visibly, she hems and haws, until she arrives at a satisfactory conclusion, at which point she leans against the plain metal headboard of her bed. “It passes time, I suppose. I found some needles and instructional pamphlets in my mother’s antiques stash, and I suppose I was addicted afterwards. Creating something with your hands is such a puissant feeling. You have the power to make something for far less than it’s sold for at stores, at least.”

Kanaya nods. The explanation makes sense…

“What about you?”

Now, with the tables turned, the android has to pause. She considers her own motivations, yet finds no reason for them to be there. She was once a childcare worker, and knitting was far beyond the motor skills her intended age range possessed. (Toddlers, as it is and ever shall be, just don’t have the fine coordination to weave their own tiny capes. This is a sad but true reality.) Programming the knowledge of such a craft would be pointless; she can draw only one conclusion: “I guess it was something my Donor knew.”

“Your donor?” Rose quirks a brow. “You refer to the mind integrated into your basic programming?”

“That’s the general android slang, yes,” Kanaya says, shrugging. Looking down at her work, she realizes that she dropped a few stitches. She unravels the last few rows of work, and begins again. “I don’t recall exactly who I was before, but I assume she… or, perhaps, he… They must have known how to knit.”

“Then your mind is undoubtedly old.” There’s a brief pause, then a small squeak of realization. A light pink spreads across Rose’s face, and she quickly diverts her gaze. Instead of looking to her companion, she stares at her knitting. “Not to say that you’re unintelligent or outdated, just that… I… You’re a relatively early model, aren’t you?”

“I’m a late KA model.” To confirm this, Kanaya consults the Kobian database. (This process is as simple as pulling out a phone and tapping in a Google search, though the results are automatically delivered. The display is overlaid on top of reality, though she controls the interface with her thoughts.) “KA-NYA, produced in 2200. New features included sensory and neural feedback, as well as new programmable capabilities.”

“Hm.” Rose nods slowly. She seems to absorb the information with unparalleled excitement. However, she apparently deems her thoughts on the matter too important to divulge. She remains silent, though she eventually meets Kanaya’s gaze.

And, at this moment, the android feels as if its operating system is crashing. Though no logical reason exists for it, she can feel a warmth building in her chest. It balloons outward, threatening to push her to the point of exploding if left unchecked. Yet, this isn’t an unpleasant sensation; in fact, she likes it. She finds herself visually tracing the outline of Rose’s jaw—pronounced, yet soft—and the shapely form of her lips. “You’re…” Kanaya, in a rare moment of uncertainty, stammers. “You’re beautiful, ma’am.”

Rose laughs. It’s a soft, yet hearty sound. It’s neither an ungraceful cackling, nor is it a wholly refined chuckle. She brushes some of her hair from her face, and, to Kanaya, her hazel eyes seem to sparkle like a complex crystal catching and refracting a beam of light. “Dave would probably say something stupid, but his terminology is appropriate for this moment. You’re quite a looker, yourself, Kanaya. And you don’t have to call me ma’am. Just call me Rose.”

A nod. A small frown. Kanaya has never before been told to address a human being so casually. After all, androids are even lower than second rate citizens. They might not even be third or fourth rate. According to their original function, they exist only to serve as servile laborers. “Very well, then, Rose.” The name comes out with such ease, yet it seems so strange.

Not that Kanaya is about to complain about it…

The conversation ends here, though the two remain together, sitting on Rose’s bed, knitting, for quite some time. Though words aren’t exchanged, they enjoy one another’s company. From time to time, Rose will risk a glance at Kanaya, but divert her attentions when she’s noticed. Likewise, Kanaya gambles on infrequent peeks in her newfound companion’s direction. Like teenagers, they do a metaphorical dance around their feelings, but their actions speak far louder than the words they refuse to utter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and feedback are always welcome and appreciated!


	4. L'incendie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[L'incendie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0zOYstZnc0Q)"** by Bruno Coulais, _Les Choristes_ (2004)

**4 JAN 2251:** John Egbert is man of average height, a bit above average girth, and beyond comprehensible shenanigans. His hair is sleek and black, his skin is lightly tanned, and his eyes are a bright, vivid blue. At this very moment, he is standing outside of his workplace, Cardstock Cafe. His teal suit gives him away, even amid the bustling crowd around him.

Dave approaches quietly. He easily blends with the throng of bystanders. Silently, he slips behind the man. Though he wants to smile, he refrains from doing so. Instead, he taps John’s shoulder, with a look of insincere apathy. When his longtime friend jumps, however, he can’t help but grin.

“Don’t do that, Dave,” John mutters. He reaches up, adjusts his rectangular glasses, and rolls his eyes. “You know, one day you’re going to come up behind me. You’re going to tap my shoulder, and I’ll turn right on around and BAM!” An uppercut to the air in front of him accompanies his words. “Right in the face! And you’ll fall on your ass, and I’ll laugh.” To punctuate this statement, John folds his arms across his chest. A triumphant, haughty laugh rises from his chest.

And Dave, in return, simply shrugs. He, too, rolls his eyes. _“Whatever.”_ He tugs at the strap over his shoulder, which holds a satchel of scrap metal in place on his back. _“You know what I came here for, anyhow. Cough it up.”_

“We don’t have anything right now, dude,” John frowns. His brows furrow, pressing together to form a line of thoughtful frustration. “Nothing’s broken lately.”

Dave’s right hand forms a ‘D’ and rises to shoulder height, with his forearm crossing diagonally across his chest. His index finger points up and to the right. He bends at the elbow, and moves the shape so that it moves in an arc, ending with the finger pointing down and to the left. ( _“Damn.”_ )

“Yeah, sorry.” John frowns.

The blond, however, is outwardly unaffected. He shrugs, grabs a cigarette from the package in his pocket, and sticks it between his lips. He lights it with the flame from a cherry red disposable lighter. Then, he replies. _“No worries. I’ve got plenty here. How’s life been in the fancier part of town?”_

A shrug. A mindless hum. “It’s been something. I miss everyone in the northwest corner, though.”

Dave offers a wry smile and a waggling brow. _“We don’t miss you.”_

John gasps and clutches his chest, stumbling backwards in the most dramatic fashion possible. “Terrible! The greatest insult you’ve ever thrown down, Dave.”

 _“I try.”_ The smile fades from Dave’s face, and his attentions shift.

John also falls silent. His almost omnipresent smile has faded, and he, too, is drawn to the same occurrence.

Nearby, a man shouts. “YOU! YOU’VE RUINED MY LIFE!” He staggers towards a figure bundled in a sand-colored overcoat, spilling beer from the open bottle in his hand as he goes. When he’s close enough, he throws a punch.

The figure stumbles, and the wide-brimmed hat falls. This reveals a masculine face. Dark brown stubble spurts from sun-kissed skin, yet a pair of glowing green irises betray the person’s true nature. “Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the android pleads.

However, the drunken man doesn’t accept this reply. Another punch is thrown.

The android once again stumbles. It falls.

And, like ants crawling from the ground to strip a nearby carcass, people split from the ebbing crowd. They begin to kick and beat the android, using anything on hand as a weapon. A crowbar. A wooden beam. A sturdy hardback book. People pummel the fallen robot with an unnerving fervor.

The vocalizations grow less and less human. Sounds are garbled and lost in a hissing static. Rubbery synthetic skin and hair cling to shoes, bags, and clothes. Coolant begins to seep from broken machinery, staining the sidewalk a light pink. Yet, the frenzied crowd continues. In fact, they keep the onslaught going until the cries for mercy stop, and the android is reduced to little more than sparking, twitching metal on the ground.

Then, as if nothing has happened, the crowd disperses. People merge back into the flow, and disappear into the everyday fray. Someone, however, places a sign on the mangled robot’s corpse: Numbers ≠ Power.

“Well… That was… something,” John eventually says.

Dave, unable to muster any sort of coherent reply, simply nods. His hands are buried deep in his pockets, yet his fingers itch with the urge to move. He wants to say something—anything—about what he’s seen. His views might not be popular, but he’s convinced they’re right. He knows what different models of androids look like, and he had immediately identified this one as a new Kobian. Thus, he’s aware that, buried beneath layers of restrictive code, there’s a human mind in there. Or, at least, there was a human mind…

“Are you guys doing okay?” John’s voice pierces through Dave’s inner turmoil. He wrings his hands together, and offers Dave an earnest, concerned glance. _“You and Rose? Nothing’s happened at the shop, right?”_

 _“Not that I know of,”_ Dave signs. The edges of his lips twitch, turning downward, and he feels a rising sense of dread. “Look, I’ll catch up with you later. I’m going to go home and check on Rose.”

John nods. “That’s a good plan.”

A brief wave signifies Dave’s departure. He shoulders his bag, then, he runs.

* * *

**4 JAN 2251:** A strange sound stirs Rose Lalonde from an otherwise uneventful stint behind the counter. It’s a deep rattling, punctuated by several percussive, metallic clicks and clangs, which sounds a lot like someone trying to break in. This unusual noise comes from the back room, where Kanaya is currently occupying herself. Naturally, Rose goes to check on it.

When she enters, she find Kanaya just as she left her. The android is busy reading through a formidable hoard of old magazines, which Rose will periodically rotate in and out on the waiting area table. “You don’t hear it?” Rose asks, concerned for her own mental wellbeing. (If she hears such a racket, but Kanaya doesn’t, something is wrong.)

However, the reply she receives calms some of her anxiety. “I do, though I believed it was Dave.” Now, she, too, has adopted a look of concern. Her gaze settles on the shaking door as she continues, asking, “Does he not come in through the back?”

“Never. He’s always come in the front door.” Now, Rose is on edge. She’s been keeping an eye on the news, and she knows that other repair shops have been attacked. There have been arsons, shootings, and hostage situations. Until now, Anvil Repairs has avoided such drama; now, though, it seems unavoidable. “Go!” She looks to her newfound friend and motions for her to go up the stairs, which lead to the private living area. “Lock yourself in the guest bedroom.”

“That’s a reasonable plan, but I must politely refuse.” Kanaya steps forward. She leans down, reaches into one of her black combat boots, and pulls forth a knife. The polished blade is about twelve inches long, and the variety of scratches and nicks on its surface show that it’s been used. “I would like to help you.”

Rose hesitates. She purses her lips and closes her eyes, allowing her mind to race to a conclusion. Normally, she would sit and think through the idea. But, she doesn’t have time for that. So, the first conclusion she draws is her answer. “Fine,” she huffs, grabbing a shotgun from a compartment beneath one of the workbenches. (Written on the barrel of the gun, with metallic pink ink, are the words: This gun shoots magic.) “I will show my gratitude in free repairs. Should any harm befall you, rest assured that Dave and I will take care of it.”

Kanaya’s mouth opens, as if to respond, only to slam shut.

There’s a crack, a thud. The sound of splintering wood gives way to a person clad in pure black, their face covered by a ski mask. In their hands, there’s a powerful plasma rifle. On the side of the weapon, written in red, is a simple message: "We Are Better. We Are Human." The intruder says nothing; they do nothing. After some time, they cock the gun. A low hum begins to resonate throughout the room, and it grows louder with each passing second. Their eyes fall upon Kanaya, at which point they offer a humorless laugh. The gun turns, and its end points towards the android…

* * *

**4 JAN 2251:** When Dave Strider returns to his house, he finds it surrounded by enforcement officials. Yellow crime tape cordons it off from the rest of the street. To his relief, however, Rose stands outside. She’s speaking to an official, unharmed. Kanaya is also there, unharmed, though some of the skin on the side of her face is hanging loose. The metal panel beneath has a visible scrape.

Far to the side, outside of the caution tape, is Karkat. His arms are folded across his chest, and he leans against the wall of the building to the left of Anvil Repairs. He appears to be wholly disinterested in the entire affair.

Dave decides, too, that keeping out of the way is the best idea. He’ll certainly do nothing but annoy the enforcers, who won’t be able to understand his signing. And Karkat doesn’t appear to be in the mood for conversation, so that also seems to be a dead end. Thus, he buries his hands in his pockets. He sighs, turns, and wanders off.

* * *

**5 JAN 2251:** The television in the corner of Anvil Repairs’ waiting area drones on, its audio slightly distorted by continuous static. An image of the usual channel three newscaster is visible, and the headline beneath is eye-catching. Man Dead After Shootout at Repair Store. “Anvil Repairs was the site of another anti-android attack yesterday. One of the owners, Miss Rose Lalonde, was inside at the time. The intruder, who was shot during the fight, was transported to Skaia’s Hope, where he later died,” the man duly reports.

The image shifts to a woman amid a sea of reporters. “He came in unannounced, through the locked back door, and threatened me with a gun.” Rose Lalonde says, her demeanor one of incredible calm. “He had a gun, and he threatened to kill me. I’m honestly not sure what he expected to happen, but he’s dead, now. That’s all there is to it.” Again, the image cuts.

Back in the newsroom, the reporter offers a somber glance to the camera. “This is the second fatal attack this year, and we’re only five days in. The Skaian government is currently discussing how to handle the issue, and the president is refusing to comment. However, several traditionalists have condemned Miss Lalonde for her actions, citing that she should have relinquished her robotic customer, as the intruder demanded.”

A pale, balding older man, with the skin of his cheeks drooping down, merging strangely with his chin, occupies the screen. He tugs at his tie and straightens his silk suit. In a stern, angry voice, he says, “This was a crime, and Miss Lalonde should be charged. She killed another human, and for what!? To save the so-called life of something that isn’t even alive! These Prospitians, supporters of some harebrained idea that anything with free will is human, are simply unreasonable! To argue with them is pointless! They should be jailed, and Miss Lalonde should be executed as her poor victim was.”

“Currently,” the reporter, once again on screen, continues, “No one has been charged. Officials report they do not plan on charging Miss Lalonde. However, the android with her has been arrested and will be held on suspicion of possible murder. The unit, a Kobian KA-NYA, was released after her $3000 bail was paid. She is currently confined to the Anvil Repairs store, unless accompanied by Miss Lalonde.”


	5. Adagio for Tron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Adagio for Tron](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_zqdnl09VI)"** by Daft Punk, _Tron: Legacy_ (2010)

**6 JAN 2251:** The paste used to create fake skin is a thick, viscous substance. It takes on the color of whatever pigment is mixed into it, and applying the concoction in a believable, consistent manner is a craft that few people master. Dave Strider, however, is amongst these few. He spreads the substance carefully, as if it is expensive paint, and smooths it over so that it blends perfectly with its surroundings. His work is precise, quick, and flawless. It’s obviously the result of years of practice, and, perhaps, a certain amount of innate skill. Right now, he’s working on covering the patch of skin removed from the side of Karkat’s head.

For now, Karkat remains silent. He doesn’t want to interrupt Dave’s work, yet a question burns brightly in the back of his mind. It consumes him, overpowering most other thoughts, and pushes to be released. However, the android is polite enough to ask it only after Dave has finished his job. “So, what? You’re just going to keep doing what you’ve been doing like nothing fucking happened?”

Dave shrugs. He turns, rummages through the cabinets, and pulls out the supplies necessary to create more artificial skin. He places a semitransparent block in an iron pan, and places this on a hot plate. Then, he produces a few tubes of pigment.

“Are you going to answer me, or are you going to keep standing there and toiling away, like a fucking idiot?” demands Karkat.

Again, Dave shrugs. He mixes the pigments carefully, adding colors as needed, until he’s produced a deep, rich brown. It matches Kanaya’s skin tone, and it’s completed by the time the cube has begun to melt. Using a palette knife, he scrapes the resultant creation from the plate he’d been working on, and slops it into the growing puddle of goo.

“Aren’t you afraid!? God, you fucking hyper-masculine idiot, don’t you have any sense of self-preservation!? Run! Leave! Stop doing what you’re fucking doing!”

A humorless laugh escapes Dave. He runs his fingers through his hair and shrugs, then observes the progress of his work. By now, most of the cube has melted. Perhaps, he decides that this is a good time to talk, because he finally begins to respond to the inquiries. _“I don’t have much of a choice. If I want to survive, I keep repairing robots. If I die doing that, I guess that’s just how it goes.”_

Karkat pauses. He furrows his brows. What’s been said goes against everything he’s learned about mankind. For over half a century, he’s watched humans. He’s seen them fight tooth and nail to survive, constantly inventing new technologies to circumvent and ward off death. He is, essentially, the culmination of these efforts—a mind in a jar, an immortal being. People fear death, and, yet, there’s this one. “Don’t you want to survive, dumbass!?”

Dave holds his right hand at shoulder height, with the palm facing out, and touches his thumb to his outstretched index and middle fingers. ( _“No.”_ ) The response is succinct and short, and the movement is punctuated with curt haste. _“Despite being incredibly cool and stylish, I’m the bottom of the food chain. People step on me to rise up. I don’t fit in, so I don’t belong. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”_ Despite his outward apathy, Karkat can sense something more. There’s an unnerving sincerity to Dave’s commentary. He’s taken it to heart. He believes everything he says.

“God, it’s like talking to a goddamned brick wall! I say something, and it bounces back and slams me unceremoniously in the motherfucking face!” Karkat pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “I’ve had more productive discussions with Roombas.”

With the palms facing inward, and his hands bent at a right angle, Dave taps the tips of his fingers together. ( _“Fair.”_ )

“I cannot stand you!” Karkat prepares the words, yet, when he opens his mouth, nothing happens. Instead, he finds himself silenced by the scene before him. Dave fades and, instead, a somewhat hazy image appears in his stead. A tall, overbearing man. His wrinkled skin is pale, his grey hairline recedes with the utmost rapidity, and his uneven brows are furrowed. Thin lips are turned downward, forming a contemptuous snarl as he speaks. His voice is loud and tinny, and the words are distorted, as if being passed through a bad microphone.

“You can and _never will_ be of value to me. To anyone!” Despite the distortion, Karkat can tell that the man’s voice is nasal and shrill. “You are a waste of space. A mite. A parasite.” The man leans in and, when he speaks, his breath reeks of cigars and whiskey. Yellowed, uneven teeth jut, like old gravestones, from rotting gums. _“Karuna Varma.”_

The name seems so familiar, yet it doesn’t belong to anyone in Karkat’s database. In all his years wandering the floating barge city of Skaia, he’s never once met someone with that name. He’s never even _heard_ of someone with that name. And, yet…

“Huh?” a deep, confused vocalization. The man is gone, and Dave has returned. He looks concerned.

Karkat, however, doesn’t have much time to process this. He sways unsteadily on his feet. A warning message, which informs him of an “Unknown Error” flashes in his vision, the text an angry, vivid red. His thoughts are overpowered by a monotonous voice. “Emergency shutdown procedures activating in five… four… three… two… one…”

* * *

**6 JAN 2251:** Rose finds herself struggling to keep up with Dave’s signing. She has only known sign language for so long, and her proficiency is far behind her brother’s. She specializes in written and spoken word; gestural, visual languages are not her forte. “Dammit, David, slow down!”

Dave bristles. He huffs. When he continues, he’s slower. His handshapes  are more understandable, but he still seems to be uncertain of himself. Unlike usual, he fumbles often. His hands hang in the air from time to time, and the fingers tremble, as if what he wants to convey is being held back. _“We were just talking, and he dropped. I have no idea what’s happened. He’s a pretty decent guy, and definitely one of the more entertaining people we’ve worked with, so I really hope he hasn’t bricked.”_ He moves his shades, and rests them atop his head. This reveals his eyes, which are wide with an almost childlike fear. His right hand forms a sideways ‘A’, and the side presses against his flattened left palm. He holds this out to Rose, as if offering her a heavy drink, and moves it inward, to himself. ( _“Help me.”_ )

For all her usual composure, Rose, too, finds herself at a loss for words. She assumes that whatever has happened is the result of a software failure, which would likely trace back to her. Her work is her pride, and she’s never before had it fail. “I haven’t the slightest clue of what’s happened, Dave. I’d love to assist, but…”

By now, Kanaya has also arrived on the scene. She kneels down, and tugs a coiled wire from its spot behind her left ear. She connects the end to a small, discrete port at the base of Karkat’s skull.

_“God, we’re just being fucked up the ass by the worst luck. Fate has a boner for our misfortune. First, we’re attacked. Then, a customer bricks. What’s next? Strike me down, God, I’m fucking ready.”_

“Fucking shit, Dave!” Rose exclaims, her temper rising, “Is it possible for you to shut up for two seconds and be reasonable?”

 _“No,”_ is the brother’s calm reply.

Kanaya, meanwhile, nods. She disconnects the plug, and allows it to feed back into its hiding place. “It was just an emergency shutdown procedure. He’s fine. Just give him a few hours, and I’m sure he’ll be back to normal.”

Both blonds halt, and their bickering comes to an abrupt end.

Rose steps back and breathes a deep, calming sigh.

Dave, with his lower lip pitifully jutting out, nods. _“Okay. I can live with that.”_ He, too, takes a deep breath. He runs his fingers through his hair, then returns to his usual self. His expression returns to its usual apathetic state, and his signing is fluid. _“I’ll stay with him. You two can go back to whatever you were doing.”_

Kanaya nods. She departs without any further comment.

Rose, however, lingers briefly. She studies her brother. His shoulders remain tense, and his eyes dart anxiously around the room, rarely settling on anything for too long. He’s upset, but she knows he won’t admit it. She doesn’t bother bringing it up, for she knows it will only lead to bruised egos and passive-aggressive nonsense. Instead, she offers him a curt wave, and she leaves. When she returns to her room, she finds Kanaya knitting on her bed. At the android’s side, she sees her knitting needles.

“I placed them here when I returned, so I wouldn’t undo any of your work by accident.”

A small smile creeps across Rose’s face. She nods, and she blushes. “Thank you,” she says, grabbing her supplies. She joins Kanaya, and continues to knit, saying, “That was very considerate of you.”

“Consider it a gesture of friendship,” Kanaya says, her voice cheerful. Despite this, her eyes turn away from her companion. Her gaze focuses on her knitting, and her embarrassment is painfully apparent.

Rose doesn’t mind. In fact, she finds it cute. She giggles.

This draws a reassured grin from Kanaya.

* * *

**7 JAN 2251:** At this point, Dave has been awake for twelve hours. It is midnight, and Rose has already gone to bed. Dave, however, has remained in place. He feels as if he has a duty, and he’s determined to see it through. So, when an electronic whir rises from Karkat, the man breathes a far more exuberant sigh of relief than he’d like to admit. He watches, and finds himself overjoyed to be on the receiving end of a familiar, commanding voice.

“Well, that was something.” Karkat frowns. He sits up, folds his arms across his chest, and looks warily at the man to his left. “You don’t have to fucking babysit me, you know. I’m perfectly capable of keeping track of myself. It’s not like I have programs intended to automatically patch and repair whatever might cause a temporary failure.”

Faded, dirty red sneakers scuff against the floor. Doing his best to downplay his concern, Dave replies, _“I know. I just didn’t want you to think I’m some shitty, useless repairman. Especially after what happened, it’s a dick move to leave you here.”_

Karkat responds with several bewildered blinks. He opens his mouth, then closes it. His brows knit together, and he tangles his fingers in his hair. “Fuck. I guess I should thank you, then, asshole. I hate being indebted to sentient pieces of shit.”

Dave grins. The left side of his mouth rises higher than his right, though he seems unaware of this. _“Just consider it customer service. What happened, anyhow?”_

Now, Karkat pauses. He lurches backwards, as if being hit in the chest. “Karuna Varma,” he recites. For a minute, he seems confused. Then, a look of realization appears. “My name was Karuna Varma.”

 _“Really?”_ Dave makes no attempts at hiding his suspicion. His smile has been replaced with an equally lopsided frown, and he takes a step back to place some distance between himself and Karkat. _“That’s a weird thing to say.”_

“No, no. Fuck. Shit!” Karkat groans. He steps forward, but returns to his former placement when he notices Dave’s involuntary recoil. “I— I swear I saw a memory. I saw something!” he insists. “Look the name up!”

Still wary of this development, Dave complies reluctantly. He steps over to the nearby computer, and taps in the name. The results are delivered with their usual haste. _“Born 2061, died 2101. He’s supposed to be some sort of goddamned genius doctor. I guess he sort of is; he cured leukemia. I can’t find much more than that.”_

“Really?” There’s a poignant uncertainty in Karkat’s voice, as if he doubts his own value. He closes his eyes and wrings his hands together. After some time, which is steeped in deeply awkward silence, he shakes his head. “No. No, then that can’t be right.”

 _“If you say you saw something, it might be. I’ve never heard about this asshole before, so it could be you.”_ Dave puts aside his skepticism to comfort the android. He steps forward, wraps an arm around Karkat’s shoulders, and offers a small smile.

Karkat, however, seems to have made up his mind. He shrugs aside the gesture of goodwill, and slinks back to his room, saying, “It was nothing. Forget I said it.”

Dave, meanwhile, wants to argue. He wants to protest, to tell Karkat that he has some sort of inherent worth. Yet, he can’t. He can’t communicate with someone unwilling to reciprocate, and it frustrates him to no end. He chews on his lip and digs his nails into his palms, pressing until it causes discomfort. Then, when the door at the top of the staircase clicks shut, he lets forth a pensive sigh.


	6. Love Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Love Like You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpUSWlgZXvY)"** by Rebecca Sugar, _Steven Universe Soundtrack: Volume 1_ (2017)

**7 JAN 2251:** Wooden boards are stacked in haphazard piles, metal plates lay scattered like shards of broken glass from a smashed bottle, and nails and hammers have multiplied like rabbits. The store is in total chaos, and its occupants are equally frazzled. Their disorder and anxiety isn’t entirely unfounded, though.

“SHIT!” Rose exclaims, rubbing the back of her head. She spins around, levels a menacing glare at her brother, and frowns. “Watch what you’re doing, Dave.”

 _“Well, shit, I didn’t notice you there. My bad.”_ Dave shrugs. His apology is as insincere as the smile he accompanies it with. When he’s finished responding, he picks the wooden board he’d been handling back up, and proceeds to brace it against the back door. _“What are we supposed to be doing with all this shit, anyhow?”_

“We’re locking up the shop. Any superfluous entryway shall be sealed.”

Here, Kanaya speaks up. “Would that include the windows?”

“Yeah, sure, let’s cover all the goddamned windows!” Karkat grumbles. “People will walk by, look through the displays, and run back home to grab their dearest loved ones. ‘Oh, little Jimmy, I saw the most _exquisite_ wooden particle board today,’ they’ll say.”

Dave snickers.

Rose groans.

Kanaya rolls her eyes.

“Look, Karkat, you and Dave both seem to be having some manner of a _hissy fit_ ,” Rose says, emphasizing her words with air quotes, “Why don’t the two of you leave, and Kanaya and I will handle the shop’s defenses? Go do something productive with yourselves.”

Dave, from where he’s leaning against the back wall, smirks. He waggles his brows. _“Are you suggesting I fuck that butt-scratching monkey of a robot?”_

“DISGUSTING! FUCKING DISGUSTING!” Karkat shrieks.

“GET OUT!” Rose’s decree is final. She grabs the two men by their collars, and drags them to the front door. There, she stops. A forceful shove puts them on the other side of the threshold. “When the two of you have figured out your homoromantic urges, please feel free to return. Until then, I do not wish to see you again. Farewell.” She offers a saccharine smile, then slams the door shut. She locks the door behind them.

As this exchange occurs, Kanaya remains silent. She rests her weight against a nearby workbench, and keeps her arms folded across her chest. Her lips are pressed together, and she doesn’t dare to speak until Rose has reentered the back room. “Those two are quite the handful, aren’t they?”

Rose nods. An exasperated sigh escapes her. “I do love my brother, but he’s unpredictable. His mood dictates his feelings, and he has the tact of a toddler.” Stepping forwards, she grabs onto the beam Dave had left behind. She begins to nail it in place, barring the back entrance. “I’m unsure of how he came to be who he is, but he’s not what most people would consider normal. I barely understand him half the time, and that’s in spite of my relatively decent knowledge of psychology. His motives mystify me, to say the least.”

Lifting the opposite side of the beam, Kanaya begins to drive in a nail, too. “He reminds me of some of the children I worked with. Petulant, prone to temper tantrums, and emotionally immature.”

“Not to make a pun, but to make a pun, you’ve hit the nail on the head.” Rose smirks.

Kanaya laughs. “So, there is more to you thank looks.”

“I would argue the same for you,” Rose replies, winking.

Here, Kanaya pauses. She considers the events which unfold before her.

Surely, this is a romantic gesture. She can’t see any other meaning. Yet, Rose _must_ know of the laws; she’s smart enough. That’s not to say that Kanaya won’t pursue the relationship, only that she’s wary of continuing it.

“What about you? Where are you from?” Kanaya asks, trying to redirect the conversation.

Rose, to the android’s relief, takes the bait. She shrugs, and begins to add a second nail to her side. “I was raised outside of Skaia, actually. I lived in Washington, with my mother, until she died. Megastorms and all that. I emigrated from mainland America, and ended up here.” A nonplussed shrug punctuates the statement.

“So, what’s it like?” inquires Kanaya.

“Hm?” Rose frowns.

Kanaya clarifies her statement. “Living on solid land, rather than the floating death trap we’re on now. What’s it like?”

“It’s nothing like Skaia. People on the land are resilient, to say the least. One storm, such as the one that I experienced, would likely destroy this place. Skaia is lucky it hasn’t had one.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Rose frowns, and her brows furrow.

Sensing discomfort, Kanaya once again changes the topic. “What about you and Dave? How are the two of you related?”

The look of pensive introspection fades, though an air of distraction remains. “Our parents divorced when we were young. Dave stayed with our father, and moved here. I remained with our mother. Neither of us were aware of the other’s existence, though I learned of Dave through some old documents, which I rescued from the debris of my old home.”

Kanaya nods. An involuntary hum escapes her, and she returns her attentions to the task at hand. For now, she decides to ponder the possible implications of pursuing a relationship with Rose. Certainly, it will satisfy _her_ ; whether or not it is what Rose wants is still up for debate. There is no doubt in Kanaya’s mind, though…

* * *

**8 JAN 2251:** “It’s past midnight, Strider,” Karkat says, his eyes darting from one shadowy corner to another. “I think it would be a good idea to go the fuck back to your place. Anvil Assholes, or whatever you call it.” He buries his hands in the front pouch of the black hoodie he’s wearing, which he supposedly borrowed from Dave. (Not that Dave has any recollection of agreeing to such an arrangement. But, what’s he to do about it? He can’t just forcibly strip his own customer.) “It’s dark, I’m bored, and, if staying out here was mouse food, even a fucking newborn mouse would starve to death.”

Perplexed by this comment, Dave furrows his brows. He frowns. His left hand flattens. His right hand forms a ‘V’, with the index and middle finger extended, and he taps his fingertips to right-facing palm of his left hand; the palm of his right palm is pointed towards the ground. He withdraws his hand, then repeats the motion, but with his palm facing inward. ( _“What does that mean?”_ ) With an exasperated sigh, he removes his shades, which had formerly been resting atop his head, and begins to toy with them. He clicks the arms together.

Karkat groans. “It means that this makes about as much sense as trying to run the ancient video game, _Doom_ , on a toaster. I swear to whatever sky-dwelling overlord you may or may not believe in, you’re the densest fucking person I’ve ever met. Have you ever held a block of lead in your hand, because you’re even denser than that. You've done it! You have _surpassed_ the density of lead!”

Rolling his eyes, Dave points the index fingers of his hands towards one another, but keeps them apart. When he moves them inward, he twists his wrists. He gesture is done over his heart, and a look of detached annoyance graces his facial features. (The most literal meaning is, simply, _“ow.”_ But, the way he is signing it makes it obvious that he’s being sarcastic.) From here, he continues, signing, _“Look, you can try and go back if you want. That’s your fucking choice. I’m feeling good today, so I’d rather not die. And, if I go back now, I’m going to die. Rose will kick our asses so hard we’ll end up in China.”_

A scoff and a simpering smirk serve as Karkat’s reply. However, he’s sure to add to it. “You’re just being a drama-fucking douchecanoe, now.”

Dave shakes his head. _“I swear I’m not.”_ With his index finger, he draws an ‘X’ over his heart. It’s not meant as any defined word. He intends for it to be a universally understood concept—I cross my heart. _“Rose is pissed at us, and you do_ not _want to be anywhere near her when she_ _’s had enough of your bullshit.”_ He signs the word for ‘not’, placing the thumb of his left hand—which forms an ‘S’—beneath his chin, then moving it forcefully forwards. _“Trust me, I’ve lived with her for a year.”_

Karkat nods. It’s a slow, almost condescending gesture, and the android is making no attempt to mask his skepticism. “Sure. Whatever, Fuck-lord Shitwaffle.”

Normally, Dave would jump on such a comment. He’d subtly rip into the haughty way he’s being treated. Now, however, he’s too tired to. His eyelids grow heavier by the second. _“We can go back soon, once Rose is asleep. For now, we stay out.”_

“Fine.” A shrug. Karkat turns his head, and focuses on the path before him. “How many more repairs are left before I can free myself of your incessant, shit-stained presence?”

There’s a brief pause. Dave tries to sort through his memories, though he’s never been one to remember tiny details. In fact, his memory is on the lower side of the scale, and he’ll admit to that. However, it’s absolute shit when he’s tired. _“I don’t fucking know, dude.”_ He shrugs. The gesture is exaggerated tenfold. _“Ask me again when I’m not falling asleep.”_

“I guess that’s fair.” The reply is begrudging and quiet. “So, what? If I didn’t know sign language, you’d just be wandering around by yourself, now, wouldn’t you?”

 _“Pretty much. Yeah.”_ Though he’s perplexed by the sudden change in topic, Dave rolls with it. _“Rose usually interprets for me. It’s annoying as hell, and I hate it. It’s like… It’s like having your dad read your texts.”_

Karkat smirks. “I can’t relate, shit-for-brains, I’m a robot.”

 _“Shit.”_ Dave feels heat rising to his cheeks, and even his best efforts fail to push it back down. _“Well, the point is that it fucking sucks.”_

“And you can’t talk at all?” The way Karkat looks away when he asks the question—how his shoulders tense, and how lips form a tight-lipped frown—tells Dave that he knows the question is rude. It’s obvious that he knows better, and that he’s aware that he shouldn’t have even entertained the idea of posing such a deeply personal inquiry. Yet, he did.

And, perhaps due to his advanced stage of exhaustion, Dave unerringly replies. He divulges something of a secret to an android, who he has only known for seven days. _“When I was seven, my dad threw me down the stairs. A few days later, I had a stroke. It’s an uncommon as hell occurrence, but I guess I hit the goddamned jackpot.”_ He shrugs, eyes the android warily, and buries his hands in his pockets. For now, he’s finished talking.

Karkat seems to have also come to this conclusion. There’s a brief look of realization. His brows rise, his mouth opens slightly, and he seems to put together the pieces. (After all, he’s a former medical unit. Dave’s assumed that he’s been taking notes on him since they met.) However, rather than saying anything, Karkat simply presses his lips together. He lowers his eyes, bows his head, and continues, like his companion, in silence.

* * *

**8 JAN 2251:** Though Rose is aware that her brother returned overnight, she has little desire to see him. And, perhaps, he’s sensed this; Rose hasn’t seen him all morning. Not that she’s been looking for him. For the past few hours, she’s been browsing the internet. She’s managed to scrape together the necessary files to update Kanaya and, now, she sits on her bed, beside the robot. “I presume that you’re aware of the possible risks, are you not?” she asks.

Kanaya nods. “I have always known of the risks involved with every update. However, I would also like to put an end to the annoying pop-up, which periodically tells me to update.”

“That’s fair,” concedes Rose.

Kanaya is a different model from Karkat. Though they both belong to the same line—the KA units—her updates don’t require any skin to be removed. In fact, updating her is as simple as finding the port, which is hidden beneath her hair, near the top of her neck. “Are you prepared for the update?” Rose asks.

Again, Kanaya nods. “I trust you, go ahead.”

Though she normally wouldn’t find anything wrong with the statement, Rose finds herself blushing. The idea that Kanaya trusts her rouses a strange, bubbling warmth within her. Nonetheless, she pushes it aside. She inserts the flash drive, and waits…


	7. Unfulfilled Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Unfulfilled Feelings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjh6Aytb9wo)"** by Tomohito Nishiura (西浦 智仁), _Professor Layton and the Diabolical Box_ (2007)

**9 JAN 2251:** The sun hasn’t risen, and the world is dark. Though she can certainly turn on the lights in the room, Kanaya has decided against doing so. And her roommate, Karkat, has also agreed that this should be the case. After all, they’re guests. Wasting electricity is rude, and both of them have night vision capabilities. Why, then, bother turning on a light?

“Dave is a pain in the ass,” Karkat comments. He’s laid on his back, and it seems as though he’s taken an interest in the exciting hobby of staring at the ceiling. “God, he’s a shitnugget…” Here, there’s a moment of hesitation. He frowns, and his brows furrow. His eyes move away from Kanaya, and focus on the floor. “He’s cute, though. And he’s nice. He’s too goddamned nice, Kanaya, and I hate it.”

“Perhaps he’s flirting with you?” the other android chuckles. She runs her fingers through her hair and looks down, towards the knitting needles in her hands, before continuing, “He does seem nice, though. I’ll admit that. I don’t believe our personalities would necessarily mesh, but yours and his, together, seem to be a palatable combination.”

There’s a low growl, a prerecorded sigh. “Are you implying that we’re like some sort of tongue-trashing Happy Meal? I’m the blood-infused ketchup, and he’s the stringy, shitty chicken?”

“I didn’t explicitly say it in such colorful turn of phrase, but that’s the idea.” By now, Kanaya can see how agitated Karkat is getting. She can see how the lines on his forehead deepen, and how his frown grows ever wider. It amuses her, to some extent, but she knows that it’s time to deescalate the situation. “So, have you learned anything about him?”

Karkat shrugs. The tension in his shoulders begins to dissipate. “He didn’t seem to have had the best upbringing. Something about some douchenozzle throwing him down the stairs, I think.”

“Rose has spoken to me about such things,” Kanaya nods. Again, she looks to her knitting. And, as she does so, the world seems to slow to a halt.

When she looks up, she finds herself somewhere completely different. Her hands are different—they’re more wrinkled and weathered. The air smells of freshly picked daisies, though she’s unsure of how she knows this; that particular flower died off long ago. The earth beneath her feet is solid, without so much as a hint of the constant swaying of Skaia, and a hoard of children run about in a grassy meadow. Their laughter fills the air, and their joy is contagious.

As she looks on, a single boy approaches. His skin has been tanned by the sun, and his bright blue eyes are wide with amazement. Tiny hands reach out, grab onto the large finished section of blanket, and a wowed exclamation escapes him. “Miss Marien, did you make this all by yourself!?”

Though Kanaya senses that she should know the child’s name, she doesn’t. This saddens her, but she manages to smile for the boy. “Yes, I did! I made all of the blankets here, too!”

“Holy moly!” proclaims the child. He grins and pats the knitting. When voices call out, in the distance, he turns his head. He waves. “It’s been nice talking to you, Miss Marien. I’m going to go play hide-and-seek!”

Kanaya opens her mouth to respond, only to find the world melting around her. Like lines of static on an old television, chunks of reality reappear. “Unknown error,” a generic, monotone female voice announces. A warning message flashes across her vision, and she sways slightly. However, before it can begin the countdown, she quietly overrides it. Eventually, the world is once again normal. She’s facing Karkat, laying in a rather sub-par bed, and cloaked in the darkness of the Anvil Repairs guest room.

“You okay over there?” Karkat asks, his voice thick with concern.

“Of course.” Kanaya nods. “It was just a strange vision. Nothing to be concerned about.”

“A memory,” Karkat volunteers, solemnly. “I had one of those, too, but I ended up on the ground, like the shit-scraping asshole I am.”

“Yes, I believe that’s what it was. Something about a woman by the name of Miss Marien. It seems as if she ran an orphanage. I’ll have to look the information up in the morning.”

* * *

**9 JAN 2251:** “Are you sure that it’s actually broken, and not just warming up? Parts are temperamental shit-wafers, and they act up from time to time,” Karkat grumbles. His voice is low, his jaw is set, and his fingers tap together nervously. “Really, I’d rather live with a broken waste pump than have to look at your eye-clawingly ugly mug for another fucking second.”

Dave laughs, though it’s humorless. He’s grown used to Karkat’s insults, perhaps even fond of them, but he won’t let that show. _“It’s broken. The filter is jammed, and you need to get a new one. Overheating isn’t fun, dude. You’ll warm up past the temperature your skin can withstand, and your face will melt. Is that what you want? Do you want children to run, screaming, from you, as your face sloughs off like some god-awful F-list horror film stunt?”_

“I fucking guess not,” Karkat huffs. He folds his arms over his chest. “Take it on out, then.”

A nod. With the precision of a trained craftsman, Dave extracts the fist-sized canister from its place, between where the shoulder blades would be. He then strides around the bed, and shows the dust-clogged filter and sputtering remnants of a fan to his customer. When Karkat gestures for it to be taken away, he sets it aside. _“For now, I’m putting in a plastic replacement. It’s good for about a month, which is more than enough time for a new one to show up. But, you shouldn’t go running around like a college stripper evading the police. I don’t have enough replacements for that.”_

“Your comparisons are so fucking abstract that I’m amazed they’re not clogging up museum space,” snarks the android.

Dave ignores the commentary. He affixes the standby, which bears more resemblance to a cheap water bottle than a proper mechanical component, and attaches a protective metal plate over the spot. For now, he will leave this area without any skin. After all, it will only be removed within the next thirty days; mixing and applying new skin is a waste of his time and resources, both of which are limited.

“Why do you care so much, anyhow?”

“Hm?” Dave looks up, toward the android he’s working on, and cocks his head to the side. He provides no further commentary; he’s already gotten his point across, there’s no need for him to stop working just to emphasize it further.

And, in return, Karkat furrows his brows. He frowns, and his gaze wanders aimlessly around the room, moving everywhere but in Dave’s direction. “Most repairers don’t give a flying, plenary fuck about what they do. I walk in, they look me over, they tiptoe around me, like my brain is my prolapsed anus, and send me on my way. Most jobs are on a scale of one to the deranged, unqualified work of a brain-dead monkey. So, I’ll fucking reiterate my obscenely simple—so simple even a child could understand—point. Why do you care so much? Why bother doing all of this, especially with all the bullshit that’s plaguing this disgusting hunk of a planet?”

Here, there’s a pause. To be honest, Dave has never considered the question before. Then again, no one has ever asked it. He’s never asked it of himself, either. So, he has to think. He considers what he knows, and takes into account his experiences. Eventually, he withdraws his hands from the android’s inner workings. _“You’re as much a human as I am, you’re just made differently. I don’t see a fucking point in running around in circles, barking at one another like rabid bunnies, and debating the humanity of something with the capacity to feel. It’s bullshit!”_ He shrugs. His hands linger in the air, and his fingers twitch. After a few seconds, he continues, _“Kobian models are unique. You’re unique. There’s a human mind in there, somewhere, buried deep in layers of computer shit that I don’t understand, and it’s got memories. I don’t give a fuck about the ethics or the morality of it, I just know what it’s like to be alone.”_ Now, he shrugs. His eyes drift, and his gaze locks onto the floor. He scuffs the toe of his faded loafers against the ground. Perhaps he’s said too much. But, he answered the question.

“Oh.” For all his effort, the response is monosyllabic. Karkat seems stunned. He tangles his fingers in his hair. Though, for some time, he appears to be ready to say something, he decides otherwise. The rest of the repair session is silent.

* * *

**9 JAN 2251:** “When a Kobian robot is programmed, they’re imbued with the consciousness and mind of a formerly living person. I believe you referred to these people as Donors, which they are. These people, upon death, are morbidly preserved until their mind is digitally replicated. This recreation and approximation of thoughts, memories, personalities, and so on is then uploaded to the database. By criteria unknown to me, they’ll select a specific individual to upload to certain robots. However, to maximize profit and minimize chances of true sentience, the company stifles most aspects of the individual. Professional skills are the only true things preserved, though personality is often prevalent.” As she speaks, Rose stirs some honey into her tea. She allows the distinct aroma to fill the room, and watches the steam rise from her tattered, faded little cup.

Across the table from her, Kanaya nods. She stares at nothing in particular, and taps her fingers on the table. (Rose notes that there’s no real pattern to her tapping. Whereas Dave will often create rhythms and beats, or mime the movements he performs when mixing music or playing the guitar, Kanaya simply drums against the surface. “ _So,_ ” the android begins, elongating the vowel as she thinks, “I assume that there _are_ memories, and they’re intact? This would be the strange shit, for lack of a better word, that I saw?”

“Correct,” Rose confirms. Though it takes her a minute to realize it, she finds that she’s staring at Kanaya. It’s not for any negative reason. In fact, it’s because she finds the woman beautiful. “My friend, Calliope, would understand more about the intricate details of the process. However, the basic concept is similar to a wall. Your memories—who your Donor was—lie on one side, while who you are _now_ are on the other. The two areas are not meant to intermingle, but it’s possible that they can.” Here, she pauses.

The smell of cigarette smoke drifts through the air. It taints it, overpowering the aroma of her tea. She has told Dave many times to refrain from smoking in the house, and she briefly entertains the idea of going to speak with him again. However, when she looks at Kanaya, she decides otherwise. What she’s doing now is more important than scolding her boneheaded brother.

“I saw a child,” Kanaya explains. She wrings her hands together, and her eyes are closed. “I cannot recall it now, but the child was young, and he played in a large, grassy field with similarly aged children. He told me my knitting was wonderful, and called me Miss Marien.”

Rose nods. She ponders the statement for a few minutes. Though she rolls the name over again and again in her head, she can’t recall anyone of note. However, the imagery is telling. Certainly, these memories aren’t from Skaia. There are no areas matching the description. On the floating, artificial island of concrete and steel and brick, only small parks fulfill the need for nature. “Can you recall anything else?” she asks.

Kanaya shakes her head. “Unfortunately, no.”

“Then I will begin to look into the matter, if that’s what you want,” Rose declares.

Kanaya smiles. The expression causes heat to Rose to Rose’s cheeks, and the gentleness of her reply only hastens the appearance of the blush. “If I do so with you, it’s what I want more than anything.”

In her fog of embarrassed infatuation, Rose manages little more than a nod.

* * *

**10 JAN 2251:** When Dave wakes, the clock by his bed indicates that it’s late. It’s very, very late. Or, maybe, it’s obscenely early. Either way, he shouldn’t be awake. And, above all, he shouldn’t have heard the sound of shattering glass. No matter what the time of day is, shattering glass is a bad sign.

Being who he is, Dave doesn’t shy away from confrontation. He grabs a pistol, which he keeps in the drawer of his bedside table, and loads it with a laser cartridge. He creeps into the hallway, down the stairs, and to the door, which separates the back and front of the shop. It’s open, and he can see what’s happened. The front windows have been shattered. Shards of glass glint like fireflies in the spring. And, in the middle of all of it, there’s Rose. She’s perfectly calm, as she often is, and Karkat is busy wrapping gauze around her right forearm. Closer to the front of the store, Kanaya is studying a black hooded sweatshirt, presumably left by one of the intruders.

“Oh,” Rose, upon noticing her brother, speaks up. She smirks. “You missed the fun, dear brother. Some rowdy, drunk Skaian nationalists broke in. As you can see, they left quite a bit of a mess. I scared them off, but not before one of them managed to try and stab me. It went poorly.”

Forcing down the rising guilt, Dave stumbles forward. His brows are furrowed, and his mouth slightly open. He points to his sister, then forms two distinct handshapes—an ‘O’, then a ‘K’. ( _“Are you okay?”_ )

“No, can’t you fucking see that she’s bleeding the fuck out? Look at the floor, and behold the gory calamity that hath befallen us,” Karkat sarcastically huffs.

After shooting the android a pointed glare, Rose counters this statement. A small smile accompanies it. “I’m perfectly fine, don’t worry yourself about it too much.”

Though he nods, Dave can’t help but do the opposite. He feels responsible for this. He feels as if he’s let Rose down. How had he not woken up? Everyone else must have heard the commotion. In fact, concerned neighbors are beginning to gather outside. Yet, somehow, he didn’t notice anything was wrong. Not until it was too late. He averts his gaze. His right hand forms a fist, and it presses against his chest. The hand then moves in rapid clockwise circles, though the wrist remains straight. ( _“I’m sorry.”_ He repeats it several times for emphasis.)

“It’s no problem, Dave,” Rose says. Her voice is soft and reassuring, though it does little to ease her brother’s anxieties. “Go back to bed.”

 _“I’m not going back to fucking bed! I’m going to help you clean up and lock the place up!”_ To drive home his point, Dave stomps his feet on the ground, as if planting himself in place.

Rose, however, counteracts this. “Oh, really? Would you like to go back to bed by yourself, like a big boy, or must I enlist Kanaya to carry you, kicking and screaming, back to your room?”

At first, Dave raises his hands to respond. Then, he remembers something. His eyes fall upon Karkat, and it dawns upon him that he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the android. He’s unsure why he feels this way, but the sensation is strong enough to drive him to put his hands back into his pockets. Turning on his heel, he marches back upstairs, to his bedroom.


	8. Tavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Tavern](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQ0FNgZR0mM)"** by Tomohito Nishiura (西浦 智仁), _Professor Layton versus Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney_ (2012)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t beta read this at all...

**11 JAN 2251:** Karkat has always had a distinction amongst his fellow androids. He’s always been more sympathetic to humans—or ‘Organics,’ as many androids refer to them—and this is likely due to his job. He was programmed as a hospice doctor. He dealt with death on a daily basis, and worked as Skaia’s Hope’s resident Grim Reaper. When a patient needed some morphine, or a person whose friends and family were all dead wanted someone to talk to, Karkat was sent in. It made for a rough job, but he was told he was the only one who could do it. Apparently, too much unnecessary stress was placed on the regular doctors, so he, and the other allegedly non-human doctors, would be the stand-ins.

He resented his job. He hated it.

His first memory was, not surprisingly, when he was activated. He was greeted by a gaunt, pale-faced man. His half-moon spectacles had thick lenses, and the wrinkles on his face were indicative of age. “You are KA-RKT,” the man said, “And you will serve as Medical Android 612, Hospice Division. Your reporting station is on the fifth floor, at counter H-5-1. Report for your assignment immediately.”

Being who he was, and without all the experience he has now, he’d done exactly as he was told. In fact, for the first few years of his existence, he was little more than a go-for of sorts. “KA-RKT, retrieve” some medicine of some sort, or bandages, or iodine. “KA-RKT, a patient has requested you at” some room, and he was report immediately. He worked without hesitation and, perhaps, even zeal. At first, he loved his job. People loved him, He was new and exciting—a marvel of engineering and technology.

Then, it changed. He fell for another android at the hospital, a later SO model—SO-LUX—and, for a blissful year, they were together. Then, they were discovered. One night, Sollux simply disappeared; he never returned. Karkat was reprimanded, threatened with decommissioning, and shut down. The next time he was woken up, two months had passed. The world had changed, and people feared him. “Those robots,” they would say, eying him like a diseased animal, “They’re too smart. They’re too advanced. They’ll conquer us. They’ll murder us.”

Eagerness turned to resentment. Duty turned to begrudged obedience. Soon, he came to hate his job. After years of working, he escaped.

And all of this leads to now.

Now, he stands in the middle of a run-down construction and supply store. A few yards away, Dave is contemplating the price of some windows. Nearby, some people chatter about what sort of masonry to use on their building’s facade.

A loud huff. Dave beckons the android over. As Karkat approaches, the blond begins to ramble, signing, _“These are expensive as fuck. Who spends $5,000 on a pane of glass. It’s not even bulletproof!”_

Karkat responds with a sigh. He rolls his eyes, folds his arms across his chest, and shrugs. “Does it look to you like I give a fuck?” He shifts his weight, so that he leans more to the right. “Look, can we just get out of here? It’s been three hours and, while your pitiful abode offers jack shit in ways of entertainment, I’m not quite as bored there as I am here.” If the android was to be completely honest, he’d say that he’s under-stimulated. His mind is wandering, leading him to the darkest corners of his past, and he wishes nothing more than to be distracted. “Pick some glass, and we can get the hell out of here.”

Dave, too, shrugs. He obliges. After a brief exchange, he arranges for the replacement windows to be delivered to the store in a week. As he leaves, he explains the transaction to Karkat. _“The glass is bulletproof. I’m hoping it will hold up to any sort of future efforts. Not that the kids were a low threat. That sort of shit happens all the time in Skaia’s northwest corner.”_ In this manner, he rambles on and on. He says little, but Karkat invests all his attentions on him, anyhow.

After all, anything is better than his own thoughts.

As the android ruminates in its own mind, Dave babbles cheerfully. Normally, he isn’t so talkative. He’s a long-winded guy, yes, but he rarely bothers engaging in conversations spanning any more than two minutes. (The communication barrier is often an issue, though, and exchanging notes is annoying. Thus, he assumes that Karkat’s knowledge of sign language is a factor in his chattiness.)

“Why are we doing this?” Karkat interrupts.

A startled Dave Strider takes a moment to respond. _“What do you mean? Windows are important, dude. We need them. They keep our bare asses from being buffeted by ocean winds.”_ The question is accompanied by a quizzical look.

Karkat, in return, clarifies, “Why not board it up? You can go out and get windows whenever the fuck your shriveled, stupid heart desires. Why now?”

Here, Dave nods. He points up, to the dark clouds overhead, before responding. _“There’s a storm coming. I”m not being melodramatic, but there’s a big-ass storm coming, and it’s going to knock us up and down and sideways. We’re going to get schooled by a hulking professional boxer, and we’re just some scrawny nerd.”_ Now, he gestures all around himself, to the few people walking the streets. Whereas, at this time, there’s usually a steady hum of activity, the city has dwindled to little more than occasional chirps. _“People know it, and it’s all over the news. We’re preparing.”_

“And the glass will just get fucked by flying debris?”

 _“Something is better than nothing,”_ Dave signs. His movements are succinct, and his expression is uncharacteristically somber. _“Besides, windows draw customers. You said it yourself: particle board isn’t an attractive thing to have on the front of your store.”_

Though Karkat says nothing, it seems to Dave that he agrees. He shrugs, then redirects his gaze to the sidewalk.

* * *

**12 JAN 2251:** Rose Lalonde sits at her desk. Long, slender fingers tap against the faded keys of her laptop, and her eyes stare without focus at the text on the screen. “It’s strange,” she muses aloud, speaking for an audience of one. “Kanaya, when did you say you were manufactured?”

“My first memories are dated in the year of 2200,” the android announces.

Rose nods. Her gaze drifts and lands on the window. Raindrops race down the panes of glass. “Would you agree that the attitude towards androids has changed?”

“Yes, of course.”

Another nod. Rose folds her arms across her chest. She chews on her lip. When she woke up, she was greeted by the daily news. This isn’t strange; her morning routine is always done with the news in the background. Today, however, the news was different. Aside from a large amount of reporting on the coming storm, there were segments about the tension in the city. In the northern park, several irreparably damaged androids were found by the entrance. On the streets, people were gunning down robots left and right. Skaia is in chaos, and it seems that everyone knows it, yet no one wants to fix it. “Why?” Rose asks. “What happened? Is everywhere like this?”

Kanaya seems to mull over this question a few times. Perhaps she browses the Kobian database. Either way, she reaches a conclusion, “I have heard that life elsewhere is wonderful for androids. There are places where people and machine live together, but it’s certainly not here.”

“Where?” Rose pushes, hoping for a more concrete answer. “From what I know, mainland is the same.”

“There’s another artificial island. Prospit. It’s not that far away, but it’s unlikely we’ll get there. Travel is too expensive.” Kanaya shrugs. She seems resigned, as if she’s accepted her fate.

Rose, however, won’t let this stand. She shoots Kanaya a pointed glare. “So, I assume you’ll just let people tear you up? The fate is inescapable, you know. Eventually, you’ll be scrapped.”

“That’s the fate of every robot, dear.” Though her voice is gentle, the words are harsh. Nonetheless, she offers a small smile.

And, for some reason, Rose finds herself staring at Kanaya’s lips. She feels her heart beating, pounding against her chest, as if it wants to escape. For once, she can find no words to express her feelings. Her mind is blank, yet her thoughts are inundated with images of Kanaya. She opens her mouth, hoping that an intelligent reply will come, but finds that her words are irrelevant. And, to her horror, they’re candid. “You’re gorgeous.”

Kanaya laughs. The sound is soft and refined, more of a chuckle, and her expression is subtle. “Thank you. I must say the same for you.”

Heat rushes to Rose’s cheeks. She does nothing to stop it; the blush is inevitable, and fighting it is a waste of energy. Instead, she invests herself in what she says next. She acts impulsively, something she’s not prone to doing, and rides on the coattails of a surprisingly successful attempt at flirting. “Have you ever considered dating?”

“I have thought of it, but never acted on it.” The words confirm Rose’s suspicions, but Kanaya goes on to say even more. “I am aware of the consequences, but I don’t care. I can do as I please.”

“Well,” Rose begins, only to suddenly lose her nerve. She wrings her hands together. “Never mind,” she says, quickly, “It was nothing.”

It’s painfully obvious that Kanaya doesn’t believe this. Her smile fades, turning to a small frown, and her brows furrow. Nonetheless, she doesn’t raise any further questions. “Understood.”

A sigh of relief escapes Rose, yet a wave of frustration accompanies it. Why couldn’t she say what she wanted to? What is it about this woman that drives her, a usually eloquent person, to silence? “Excuse me.” When she speaks, she realizes that her words have more bite than she intended. However, she’s not in the mood to rectify the situation. “I feel the need to go out for a bit. I’ll see you when I return.”

“Very well,” Kanaya nods. Though she’s clearly concerned, she doesn’t try to prevent anything. “I will see you then.”

* * *

**13 JAN 2251:** Dave Strider has never been a person with a consistent sleeping schedule. He wakes when he wants, and sleeps when he wants. Conforming to a calendar has never been his forte, and he’ll be the first to admit that it’s not the best way to operate. Nonetheless, it’s ingrained in him. Habits are habits, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less annoyed the still be awake at 3:00 AM. Right now, however, he has an even bigger problem.

Right now, he finds himself in the front of the store. He had been cleaning up some of the debris left by the break-in, and the door had opened. Though he suspected it was Rose, he was still surprised when it was. Now, he’s even more surprised to find that she’s drunk. He drops the broom he’d been working with and immediately begins to question his sister. _“You’re not supposed to drink,”_ he scolds. _“What the fuck have you been doing?”_

“Getting drunk,” Rose shrugs. She wipes her mouth on her sleeve. “Look, I’m older than you. I don’t need your advice.”

 _“You don’t need alcohol, either,”_ Dave signs, thinking back to what Rose had said when they first met. He can hear it now, as clear as if it was happening in front of him. She told him about her mother’s drinking, and about her own. _“You told me to make sure you never did that again.”_

“And I won’t,” Rose huffs. She doesn’t try to hide her contempt for her brother’s intervention, as she usually would, and her words are slurring together. She sways on her feet. “One drink won’t hurt.”

_“You look like you’ve had a whole barrel.”_

“I had one bottle, Dave. That’s nothing!” By now, the contempt has turned to anger. Rose’s brows are furrowed, her jaw is set, and her fingers are curled into tight fists. However, at this point, she pauses. She breathes in, then out. In. Out. After a few minutes, she shakes her head. A small smile graces her features and, when she speaks, her voice is sweet and soft. “Now, if you excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

Dave does little to stop her. Having lived with Bro, he knows that doing so is only going to cause more trouble. So, he steps aside. He watches his sister stumble up the stairs, and curses what he sees as his innate cowardice.

Rose, meanwhile, swaggers into the guest room like she owns it, though Kanaya will be the first to remind everyone that she does, indeed, own the room. Kanaya will also be the first to point out Rose’s inebriation, and, in fact, she does. “Rose, have you been drinking?”

“Yes!” the woman exclaims. She approaches, throws her arm over Kanaya’s shoulder, and grins. “And you’re _even more_ beautiful than you were the last time I saw you.” A hiccup punctuates her words and, if Kanaya could smell, she’d be painfully aware of the smell of wine, which clings to Rose’s breath.

“Why, thank you.” Though she feels as if something is amiss, Kanaya can’t help but fall for the flattery. She can’t resist the wide, exuberant grin on Rose’s face. It’s an over-the-top expression, something that she can’t recall seeing before, and it gives her an almost childlike air of joy. “As are you.”

“Hm,” Rose hums. “Perhaps.” She pauses, frowns, then grins. “So, hey, I was thinking. I was pondering the possibility of us getting together and getting to know one another,” she boldly proposes. “How about it? You and me versus the world, tag teaming with my annoying brother and Karkat.”

“Are Dave and Karkat a thing now?” Kanaya asks, stunned.

Rose shakes her head. “No, no, not yet. But, they will be.”

“That’s obvious,” Kanaya agrees. Then, without hesitation, she responds to Rose’s inquiry. “And, yes, I’d love to date you.”

“Fantastic!” Rose laughs and rolls onto her back. “Then we’ll start—. We’ll start…” A loud yawn, then, not long thereafter, peaceful breathing.

Kanaya watches. She studies the way Rose’s chest rises and falls, and wonders if agreeing to the proposal was the right thing to do. Yes, she would love to date this woman, but she’s also aware of the fact that something seems strange about the situation.


	9. Derezzed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Derezzed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4cgLL8JaVI)"** by Daft Punk, _Tron: Legacy_ (2010)

**13 JAN 2251:** When Rose wakes, she finds herself in the guest bedroom. Kanaya sits at the foot of the bed, reading a book, and rain beats against the window. Thunder rumbles, lightning infrequently illuminates the inside of the otherwise dark room, and the ground sways. Outside, the wind howls. Everything—each pattering raindrop and blustering shriek—is too loud. When it comes, the lightning is too bright. “Dear God,” she says, “What happened?”

“Well, you returned to my room last night. You were inebriated, but you asked me to date you…” Though Kanaya is ready to say more, Rose can’t help but interrupt.

Her face is pale, and her knuckles are, too, as she clings to the bedsheets. “I did _what_!?”

“You asked me out,” Kanaya shrugs. She marks her place in her book with a folded piece of paper, then turns to face Rose. “Don’t worry, I said yes. After that, you fell asleep.”

A sigh of relief escapes Rose, and the news of her successful dating proposal comes as a crashing wave of fluttering excitement. Yet, at the same time, there’s a sense of disappointment. She knows that she’s fucked up. She knows she was never supposed to touch another bottle of alcohol, but she did. For now, though, the victory outweighs this personal defeat.

“Should you be drinking?” Kanaya asks, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Something feels strange about the situation, and she’s not exactly keen on the idea of letting it be. “You seem… out of sorts.”

“I’m perfectly fine!” Rose responds, smiling wearily. She winces when light streams in through the blinds, and recoils at the sound of thunder. “I promise you, if something goes amiss, I’ll let you know.”

Kanaya nods. She doesn’t wholly trust this promise, but she acknowledges its value. At the very least, she feels as if she _has_ to invest something. If she can’t trust what Rose says, who can she trust? “So, are you still interested in dating?”

“Of course,” Rose nods eagerly. Despite the fact that she’s unbelievably hungover, she’s obviously excited. “Honestly, I don’t recall asking such a question. However, I’m overjoyed that it worked.”

Again, Kanaya nods. She remains uncertain about the circumstances, but she doesn’t want to pry too much. Rather, she falls silent. She lets the howling wind and roaring thunder hang in the air, like a thick fog.

* * *

**13 JAN 2251:** For now, Dave Strider wants nothing to do with his sister. The stench of alcohol on her breath brings up too many unpleasant thoughts. So, now, he sits in the back room of the shop, on the first floor. His back leans against the wall, and, though there are seats and stools scattered throughout the space, he’s on the ground.

Nearby, sitting on the bottom step, is Karkat. He eyes the room warily. The power went out about an hour ago, and the soft red glow from his eyes is the only source of consistent illumination. “Skaia is hell,” he mutters, “Storms are just half of it.”

Dave, in reply, shrugs. He pulls his shades from this place atop his head and studies them. The lenses are scratched, the arms bent, and the bridge is held together with tape. They’re not in the best condition, but they’re his. When he’s done with this, he responds. _“It is, but nowhere I know of is better.”_

“You’re right,” concedes the droid, his brow furrowing dramatically. “But, I’m not about to belabor an already overworked-as-fuck point. I’m just saying that this isn’t how the world was meant to be.”

_“So, we’re philosophizing now?”_ Dave waggles his brows.

Karkat rolls his eyes. He folds his arms across his chest and leans back, against the steps behind him. “Shit is fucked. There’s no way to deny that, right? We’re just scrambling around with fuck-all to do. What’s the point?”

_“Hell if I know,”_ shrugs the blond. He stars up, to the ceiling, and watches as dust from the exposed rafters falls. The swaying of the barge, which the entire city of Skaia is built upon, jostles it loose. Through the back window, he can see waves lapping at the edges of the city. Water swells, spilling over the seawall and flowing down distant streets. Should the storm grow stronger, it’s possible for the ocean water to flood up, to Anvil Repairs. For now, though, it’s safe. _“I’ve got other things to worry about besides your fucking theoretical bullshit.”_

There’s a momentary pause. The way Karkat shakes his head seems indicative of agreement. He seems to understand the gravity of the situation. Nonetheless, he continues, “So, what? You’re just going to work until you die?”

_“What else is there to do?”_ Dave sighs.

A clap of thunder. It’s loud enough to make the house shudder, or, perhaps, it only seems that way. Something slams against the back wall of the house, though it doesn’t manage to puncture it.

Karkat, now, has gone silent. After a while, though, he speaks up again. “Any reason you’re not with your sister?”

Now, Dave freezes. He stares at his hands. A quiet huff escapes him. Thoughts cloud his mind and press against his chest. Memories weigh against him, and he can’t help but judge himself for them. While Dave Strider is a talkative person, there are some things he doesn’t speak of; his past is one of these unmentionable topics. However, for some reason, he feels comfortable speaking to the android. He stands up, moves, and sits before Karkat. _“Do you really want to know?”_

“Why the fuck not?” Karkat gestures around the room. “What else is there to do in this fucking dump?”

When Dave begins, Karkat finds himself drawn into the story. He’s immersed in it, and it feels as if he takes it too much to heart. Yet, it’s compelling. Even the beginning grabs him.

_“Rose and I were separated when we were young. Our parents divorced, and I lived with my father. He made me call him Bro, and he was…”_ There’s a solid five minutes of hesitation. Dave’s eyes wander, refusing to meet Karkat’s, and his lips twitch. He seems to want to speak aloud, yet he refrains from doing so. Every sensor Karkat has—every possible algorithm he can run to analyze human emotion—screams anxiety. Uncertainty bogs the air down, and the atmosphere is like lead.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want, jackass,” Karkat volunteers.

Dave shakes his head. Eventually, he continues, _“Bro wasn’t a nice guy. In fact, he was a real shit-head. He did nothing but drink, and that trickled down to me like a steady stream of piss. To say the least, shit wasn’t sunshine and rainbows in the Strider household.”_ A shaky sigh punctuates the statement. His lips press together, forming a thin line of discontent. _“He died pretty recently. About a year ago, just before I met Rose. A car hit him. It was like some B-list horror flick.”_

Karkat nods. He can recall reading about the incident in the news. A man had been hit while crossing the street, and he died on the scene. It was likely a swift, painless death.

_“We never really saw eye to eye,”_ Dave admits. _“I never understood him, and he never understood me. It was a two-way bullshit street.”_

“Sounds like it.” Though he didn’t expect to be so entrenched in Dave’s life, Karkat can’t help but feel for him. Though it’s impossible, it feels as if his heart aches. He finds himself redirecting his gaze.

Dave, however, seems to have gained more confidence. As he continues, his signing grows more and more expressive. His movements are more emphatic, and his facial expressions are poignant. _“I’ve been working a while on realizing it wasn’t the best situation. I guess it was seeing what the world was really like that made me see I was living on Shit Street.”_

Again, he pauses; this pause is shorter. A minute or so passes before he continues. _“Rose is like Bro when it comes to drinks. She never should have had them to begin with, and she’s sobered up recently. I’m guessing the stress has gotten to her, though.”_

“Oh.” Karkat’s voice sounds quiet, almost distant, in his head. “Well, what about you?”

_“I drink sometimes, but I’ve never had problems. I don’t know why. I’m not a scientist.”_ A shrug punctuates this comment. Dave reaches into his pocket, draws out a pack of cigarettes, and takes one. He places the roll of tobacco between his lips and lights it. The flickering glow of its tip lights his face, casting dancing shadows across it.

Karkat, meanwhile, can’t help but comment, “But you smoke?”

_“Everyone has something,”_ Dave signs, unaffectedly. The tip’s glow intensifies as Dave inhales. Then, a plume of smoke flows from his nostrils. He turns his head, looks out the window, and hums thoughtfully. _“The tide is rising. It’s about two streets away. The rain is calming down, though, so I don’t think we’ll need any boats or paddles.”_

“Yeah…” Karkat feels as though he should have a more intelligent reply at the ready, but he doesn’t. He’s at a loss for words, and his thoughts are racing.

He finds that he has to reevaluate this man—this Dave Strider. Obviously, there’s more to him than a douchebag act and a nice face. He’s a real person, and he has hopes and dreams and motivations. Not that this comes as a surprise to Karkat, but it’s unnerving. For so long, the android has prided himself in his ability to analyze people. He could pick them apart in seconds, and understand who they were. But, now, it seems that isn’t the case. Now, he’s met someone he can’t explain. It fascinates him as much as it frightens him.

Perhaps, arriving at Anvil Repairs wasn’t the massive mistake he’s been making it out to be. Maybe, there’s a reason for everything.


	10. Canon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Canon](https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/whisper-of-the-heart-original-soundtrack/id883007479)"** by Yuji Nomi, _Whisper of the Heart_ (1995)

**14 JAN 2251:** The storm ends overnight, passing through with an eerie silence. In its path, it leaves a swathe of destruction. Skaia is damaged, but not irreparable. Shingles have been thrown from the roof of the store, and some of the siding needs to be replaced. However, the street is still intact and none of the windows were broken. It’s a mixture of a miracle and a curse. If the store was severely damaged, Rose could receive government aid. However, this little structural carnage won’t qualify for anything. So, the work must be done by hand and out of pocket.

Dave begins immediately. By noon, he’s already managed to schedule the roof repairs. Now, he works on fixing the facade. He sits on the sidewalk curb and whittles away at a chunk of wood. Unlike the detailing on the outside of the house, it’s new and raw. The white paint hasn’t been applied. However, it’s taking shape.

“How do you know how to do woodwork?” Karkat asks, staring over Dave’s shoulder.

A shrug serves as the blond’s answer. After a few more minutes of carving, he sets aside his tools. He turns towards the android. _“I taught myself a few things. It’s just a hobby. I’m not a professional, but it’s easier to do work yourself than to hire someone else to do it for you.”_

“Easier?” Karkat asks, his voice thick with skepticism. “Is it really fucking easier?”

 _“I meant cheaper.”_ Dave rolls his eyes.

Now, Karkat nods. He folds his arms across his chest and looks out, towards the devastation. He changes the subject. “This wasn’t the worst shit I’ve seen. People will be back to their usual fuckery in the next three months, and that’s the worst scenario possible.”

Dave smirks. _“And how do you know that?”_

“I’ve been around for a while,” is the android’s succinct response. He eyes the fallen balcony of the clothier across the street. “The worst I’ve seen was in 2201. Skaia wasn’t ever supposed to come back after that. But, for some godforsaken reason, it fucking did. People persevered, and I’m not sure if I’m awed or disgusting by that.”

 _“You must be really fun at parties,”_ Dave signs. When he concludes, he resumes his woodworking. He assumes that Karkat will continue speaking.

And, as predicted, he does. Karkat’s brows furrow, and he adopts an almost aggressive stance. His feet are placed slightly apart from one another, and his shoulders are tense. “In that case, I’ll be sure to attend your funeral.”

Unwilling to halt his work, Dave rolls his eyes. He provides no further commentary.

Some time passes like this. Dave continues working, and Karkat silently stands behind him. Then, an unfamiliar voice breaks the otherwise placid atmosphere.

Karkat is the first to react to the voice. His gaze darts upwards, to a rather tall woman.

Her skin is a light brown (or, perhaps, a deep tan), and her brilliant green eyes peer out from behind a pair of round glasses. Her smile is bright, and there’s an unabashed pep in her step. When she speaks, that energy carries over, into her voice. “How’s cleanup down here, Davey?”

Now, the blond responds. Though he’s somewhat startled, he smiles. He holds his left hand in front of him, with the flat palm facing up. The fingers of his right hand touch his lips. Then, he moves the flattened hand down and out, until it rests in the opposite hand. _“Good.”_ He eyes the woman over before continuing. _“What about you, Jade?”_ He spells her name out, and Karkat gets the feeling that it’s done for his benefit.

Jade, meanwhile, shrugs. She folds her arms across her chest and cocks her head to the side. “It’s okay. Some of the roof caved in, but we can fix that. It knocked out some of my favorite plants, though, so that’s a bummer.”

Dave frowns. He shakes his head. _“That sucks. Sorry.”_ Then, he changes the topic. He gestures towards the android behind him, and provides an introduction. _“This is Karkat. He’s staying with me for a while. Another android is, too, but I don’t know where Kanaya is.”_

Jade nods. She extends her hand and, with a smile even brighter than before, says, “Nice to meet you, Karkat. It’s nice to see a new face every now and again.”

Though there’s a moment of hesitancy, Karkat accepts the gesture. He shakes her hand and forces a smile of his own, but he remains uncomfortable. He’s never been fond of meeting new people. “Yeah… So, you’re…?”

“I run Harley’s Herbs, just down the street. I grow stuff.”

As if to corroborate the statement, Dave nods. He pockets the woodwork before continuing. _“She’s John’s sister. You’ve met John, right?”_

“Buck teeth, stupid smile, annoying voice? Yeah, I’ve met him.” Karkat scoffs, though it’s all for show. If he was being honest, he’d admit that there was something oddly charming about John. His exuberance and drive are something he rarely sees. For now, though, he’s doing his best to remain detached. He’ll have to leave soon, and he doesn’t need to be tangled in any sort of personal affections when he does.

Yet, Jade’s reply counteracts this. She laughs and pats Karkat on the shoulder. “Sounds exactly like him!”

Dave, too, snickers. _“That’s John. You nailed it.”_

Karkat heaves a heavy sigh. He runs his fingers through his hair and realizes that leaving Anvil Repairs might not be as cut and dry as he expected.

* * *

 **14 JAN 2251:** She knows she shouldn’t do it. She knows she shouldn’t have a drink. In fact, she knows she shouldn’t have had any drinks. And, yet, Rose Lalonde is drunk. She sits in the middle of an otherwise empty bar. The windows, broken during yesterday’s storm, have yet to be repaired. In fact, stray shards litter the floor. They catch the light, and sparkle like morbid glitter. For now, some plywood has been nailed in their place.

As she idles, Rose convinces herself that this is a special occasion. She won’t drink again after this; no, she’ll never touch another drink. This, however, is for Kanaya. Of course, so were the last five…

* * *

 **15 JAN 2251:** From what Karkat can see, Kanaya is as calm as always. Her lips form a small, unaffected smile. Her posture, though upright, is relaxed. She knits with confidence and speed, and the forest green blanket she’s been working on progresses steadily. Taking all of this into consideration, Karkat sees no harm in engaging in conversation.

He sits on his bed, facing his companion, and folds his arms across his chest. To get her attention, he clears his throat. (Not that he actually does. He merely makes the appropriate sound.) He waits until her gaze lands upon him before speaking. “I heard from Dave that you and Rose are dating.”

Kanaya nods.

Karkat continues, “You know how fucking dangerous that is, right? I’d get in less trouble for launching the entire nuclear arsenal of what pitiful remnants there are of the United States of America.” The android frowns. His brows press together, and he turns his head to the side. “They’ll shut you down if they find out. They’ll wipe your memories, erasing every-fucking-thing you are. You might as well be dead!”

Another nod. When Kanaya responds, her voice is calm; her tone, however, is guarded. “And why does this matter to you?”

“Because I’ve already seen someone I know get wiped,” Karkat says, bristling with frustration. “I don’t want to see it again. That shit is fucked up.” Normally, Karkat would have lied. He would have hidden his vulnerabilities and denied any emotional attachment. But, there’s something about Kanaya that calms him. “It’s weird, and I’ve only known you for a fraction of my clusterfuck of a life, but I care about you. I’d rather not see some bastards drag you off and kill you.”

Kanaya smiles. She chuckles, and it’s a soft sound, which reminds Karkat of the tinkling of wind chimes. “That’s very sweet, but I can handle myself.” The smile fades, and a look of inquisitiveness replaces it. “You, though… You’ve fallen for Dave, haven’t you?”

“NO!” Karkat snaps. His head turns back, and his eyes meet Kanaya’s.

The other android is unconvinced. She smirks, raises a single brow, and hums.

For some reason, it weighs down on Karkat. After a few minutes of being on the receiving end of this skeptical reply, he cracks. “Fine. I… Fuck… I might have some illogical affections for the ass-scratching piece of shit. But, and I must emphasize this ‘but’ with the most emphatic emphasis possible, it’s just some sort of stupid phase. I’ve liked humans before, and it’s always panned out to absolutely nothing.”

“And have you ever considered that’s because you’ve never acted on your urges?” Kanaya asks.

Karkat pauses. He’s always thought of emotions as unnatural. When he was activated, he was told that emotions were not supposed to occur within the circuitry of an android such as himself. Though he doesn’t know it, he’s spent decades masking his softness beneath a veneer of irritability; he’s convinced himself that he’s little more than an angry, prickly asshole. These realizations have yet to be truly revealed, but they’re beginning to form.

“Avoiding an emotion until it’s no longer present will only mask it. The emotion is still there, Karkat.” Kanaya concludes her profound commentary with a knowing nod.

Karkat, meanwhile, mulls over the facts. He ponders the meaning of Kanaya’s speech. “So, you’re saying I should ask that soggy newspaper out? You think I should date him?”

Though the shrug Kanaya offers is supposed to be mysterious, Karkat can sense a hint of sarcasm. Her words, too, have a peculiar sting. “I’m not here to dictate how you should live your life, Karkat. I simply suggest you try allowing your urges to dictate your actions. If you don’t like the results, you can back out. Besides, the two of you are cute together.”

Karkat rolls his eyes. He leans back, so that his shoulders lean against the wall, and offers a bitter laugh. “I’d be wallowing in the putrid marsh of my own pathetic failure, then, because Dave has better people to date. I’m sure countless human women are pounding down the door for that douchebag.” Despite his words, Karkat can’t help but entertain the idea.

And Kanaya’s response only reinforces this urge. “It’s your choice, but disappointment is better than regret. At least… that’s, my opinion.”


	11. Hell of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Hell of It](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vuikvl7zt3E)"** by Paul Williams, _Phantom of the Paradise_ (1974)

**15 JAN 2251:** _“Don’t you think you should nip it in the bud?”_ Dave’s brows are furrowed. His mouth hangs open, though not agape. The expression is indicative of a question. _“It’s still early, and we’ve caught it. That’s good, right?”_

Across the table from him is Rose. A disinterested look and a shrug form the full extent of her reply.

Dave, in return, sighs. _“You’re killing me, Rose. You’re fucking killing me. I can deal with losing Bro. He was an absolute shitlord. You know those villains in shows, where they’re so bad you can’t fucking stand seeing them? Like, just their face makes you want to puke? Think Bill Hawks from that weird sci-fi show. That’s Bro. You’re not. You’re the flawed protagonist, and everyone’s fucking rooting for you to put your goddamned foot down and become the hero. You feel me?”_

A slow blink. Rose swirls the water in her glass, as if it’s wine, and levels a poignant gaze at her brother. “I can handle myself, David. I am fully aware of my personal imperfections, and am currently evaluating how I should go about repairing this situation. I am deeply moved and grateful for your support and concern, though.” She downs some of the water, then sets it aside. Her nails, which have recently been painted a deep jade green, clack against the wooden table.

Dave, meanwhile, chews on his lip. He considers the fact that a table—a mere yard of scuffed, stained hardwood—is all that separates him from his sister, the last remaining family member he has on this earth. (Not that this is entirely true. There’s one last Strider-Lalonde family member. His name is Dirk, and he’s some rich, eccentric businessman and programmer. He, however, lives in the sunny land of Prospit, which isn’t exactly a place anyone from Skaia can just walk to. Unless, perhaps, they’re Jesus; you’d need to walk on water to get there.)

Several strained minutes of silence precede Dave’s eventual reply. He stumbles over his own words, fumbling hopelessly. In the back of his mind, he sees himself in the hospital room after the accident—a young, inarticulate child with no sign language skills to speak of. The memory stirs up a sickening churning in his stomach, and he does his best to ignore it. _“You’re the last person I know of who shares DNA with me, Rose. That’s some fucking huge shit. You can’t just dump me, flopping around like a dying fish on…”_ He hesitates. The index finger of his left hand extends, and he rotates his wrist so that it traces small, absentminded circles in the air. The fingers of his right hand twitch. After some time, he manages to come up with a conclusion for his statement. _“I’m going to be real honest with you. Bro fucked me up, and I’m not too keen on being fucked over by you, too. If you want to keep drinking it up, you’re fucking free to. It’s a free world, we’re all hopeless brains in fleshy jars, drifting like assholes in the abyss. But I don’t want to get caught up in it, okay?”_ He frowns.

And, to his surprise, Rose does, too. She lowers her gaze and runs her finger along the rim of her glass. “I understand completely, Dave.” She pushes away from the table and stands up. “I fully intend to resolve this issue, though, so I can assure you, with a fair deal of confidence, that you don’t need to start packing up.”

Dave responds with a small nod and a flash of a nervous smile. He presses the fingers of his flattened right hand to his lips. Then, bending at the elbow, he extends the hand in a downward arc, stopping when it’s roughly level with his waist. The palm is facing up. ( _“Thank you.”_ )

“No problem, dear brother,” Rose replies. There’s a lighthearted lilt to her words, and she musses Dave’s hair as she passes him on the way to her room.

* * *

**15 JAN 2251:** Alone, in the silence of the Anvil Repairs guest room, Kanaya stares at the ceiling. She’s laid out on her back, sprawled out on her bed. The bulb at the center of the room flickers, as if it’s trying to decide whether or not it has enough remaining energy to continue burning. And, in this unusual setting, she experiences something familiar. The world fades, and her senses seem to heighten (or, in the case of smell, simply exist).

She finds herself in what seems to be a storage room. Despite its function, it’s spacious. The walls are lined with shelves, which support the weight of a variety of items. Bags of diapers, old clothes, toys, cleaning supplies, and toiletries are just some of the things she can immediately spot. It’s dark, and the only illumination is a sputtering flourescent light. The air reeks of sewage, and the floor is wet. Around her, there’s a mix of sounds. Above the howling winds, she hears children crying—a chorus of fearful whimpers and sniffles. Claps of thunder shake the ground, and she can only assume that the unnaturally uproarious, infrequent pattering is rain.

When she looks down, she sees a child clinging to her legs. She appears to be between the ages of five and seven. A pink hair bow holds her puffy ponytail in place, and tears trail down her face. Without thinking about it, Kanaya scoops the girl into her arms. She rocks her back and forth, gently shushing her. “Everything will be fine, dear,” she says. Her voice is soft and reassuring. “This is little more than a big storm.”

The girl sniffles. Her wide, dark brown eyes look up, to Kanaya. “Miss Kandice, is this the end of the world?”

Kanaya pauses. She knows it’s to think of what to tell this child, but she also finds that she’s freezing for a different reason. The name is familiar. In fact, she recalls the last name she heard in one of these visions. Marien. She puts the two together. Her first attempt—Marien Kandice—is fruitless. However, when she switches the order, she feels a strange, visceral peace. Something clicks into place, but she’s aware of what it is and where that now-completed puzzle is.

“No, child, this is the beginning of a new one.”

Kanaya’s reply is as shocking to her as it is to the child, whose gaze now reflects a world of amazement. Tiny arms wrap around Kanaya’s neck, and she revels in their warmth.

Of course, nothing good can stay. At this point, the world begins to fade. Again, an error message appears. Red, angry text flashes across her vision. Again, she shuts it down. When everything has returned to normal, and all she sees is the same flickering bulb on the ceiling of the guest room, she sighs. She commits the name to memory.

Kandice Maryam.

Who was she? What did she do? What does she have to do with Kanaya, and who she is now?

The questions race around in her head, overpowering any other thoughts. They become unwelcome, unavoidable squatters in her mind. Eventually, she finds herself giving in to them. She entertains a variety of situations, but feels that she can’t truly pin down even the most promising of concepts; she lacks evidence, and this issue seems too important to leave to chance and instinct.

* * *

**15 JAN 2251:** The memory washes over Karkat like an unexpected wave crashing against a hapless beach-goer. One minute, he’s helping Dave reorganize the shelves in the back room. And, now, he’s somewhere else entirely. The walls are a dull, fading grey. The unattractive paisley wallpaper is peeling away, revealing faded wooden planks. Aside from the desk light, and the glow from an outdated laptop, the room is dark. A half-filled mug of cold coffee is within arm’s reach.

“It’s done!” The man behind the desk speaks, and his voice is foreign to Karkat. It’s loud and commanding, yet soft. An unknown accent colors his words. “Fucking finally!” The man, who bears a remarkable likeness to the onlooking android, slumps backwards, into his chair. A sigh of content escapes him.

“What’s done? What the actual fuck are we celebrating?” Karkat asks, aloud. He knows that his input is useless, but he feels the need to comment. He finds himself walking around the room, trying to find what this man is so happy about. Part of him expects the memory to end at any second, yet he’s vaguely aware of the fact that it won’t fade until he can parse some meaning from it.

Though he can’t manipulate the environment, he can scan the papers. They’re organized in neat stacks, which are slotted into appropriate sections of stacked paper holders. Most of them are scientific jargon and charts. Essays and papers, each organized by their level of completion, prove to hold little value. An eternity seems to pass before Karkat decides to look at the computer screen.

Here, there’s a partially completed email. Though he doesn’t recognize the name of the recipient, Ignatius Harley, it seems that the subject line is what he’s been after. “Research into the cure for leukemia” is the subject. He doesn’t have enough time to read past this, though, as the world begins to fade. Like dripping paint, the image disappears. The clarity diminishes, until all he can see are vague blobs of color.

He braces himself, knowing that the error message will come. He’d never expected to have another memory crop up, so he’d never asked Kanaya how she manages to remain operational through the ordeal. Now, he regrets this decision.

“Emergency shutdown in five… Four… Three… Two… One…”

The world disappears, and Karkat drops to the ground.

* * *

**16 JAN 2251:** The light of morning hasn’t yet shone. The world is dark, the city around them is asleep. Yet, Kanaya and Karkat are awake. They sit on their respective beds, each looking at the other with dumbfounded realization, and they say nothing. They share in a mutual state of awe.

However, the silence is eventually broken. Karkat is the first to speak, and he does so with characteristic honesty. “So, what? We both had deep, pants-shitting realizations about our inherent identities? Have we both come to the circuit-breaking, program-error-inducing conclusion that our identity is little more than a construct, and we’ve lived outrageous fucking lies?” He tangles his fingers in his hair and groans. “I mean, I understand that I’m probably a different entity from whatever useless scrub of a squatter is currently taking up illegal residence in my head, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less distressed by this absolute clusterfuck.”

In her usual, calm manner, Kanaya shrugs. She folds her arms across her chest and worries her lower lip for a few moments. After this, she speaks, saying, “Well, I assure you that our identities are our own. We are individual people, at least. We simply share a mutual past. People change over time, right?”

“Yes, but most people don’t have their minds uploaded to some servile robotic slave,” protests Karkat. “Look, I get what you’re saying. We’re our own person, and we’ve got freedom and agency. We can do whatever the fuck we want. If I, for some incomprehensible reason, want to launch myself into the welcome arms of space’s lifeless abyss, I can. But, would I? Would the person I was do that sort of shit?”

“Is the person you were actually who you are now?” counters Kanaya. A knowing smile graces her face, and her brows are raised. She knows that her words won’t exactly calm her friend, but they’ll at least give him something to think about. She’d long ago resolved that she was and never would be her Donor. Whoever she was is dead, and has presumably been dead for some time; there’s no need to disturb death’s peaceful slumber. “We are who we are…”

“That’s a goddamned illusion,” snaps Karkat. “This is so fucked up. If you went up to someone from a different planet… No, fuck. If you went back in time and told this to someone in the past, they’d look you in the eye and shrug. They’d probably tell you it’s a personal problem, but I’m sure they’d agree that it’s beyond fucked up. Even a goddamned caveman could tell that much!” Again, he tangles his hands in his hair. Though he doesn’t truly huff, he makes the sounds. He expresses his frustration. Then, without notice, he drops onto his bed. He burrows beneath the covers. “This is bullshit! This is steaming, feculent bullshit,” he says, his voice muffled by the fabric.

“Perhaps it is, but it’s our reality.” Kanaya shrugs. She leans back, resting against the wall behind her, and frowns.


	12. Across the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Across the Stars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9nk_WHHTQtY)"** by John Williams, _Attack of the Clones_ (2002)

**18 JAN 2251:** Though he’d be reluctant to admit it, Karkat has to say that Dave Strider is attractive. There’s something about his face—the chiseled, defined jaw and thin, linear brows—that draws the android in. His signing, in all its elegant and naturalistic form, is beautiful. His words are captivating, and his rarely seen smile is a coveted prize. Yet, the android knows that the relationship will never last. It can’t even begin. He’s painfully aware of the consequences of any sort of relationship he’ll ever have.

“Hey.” Dave nudges Karkat’s shoulder. When he seems sure that he has his attention, he continues, _“I’ve finished patching everything up. All that’s left now is to repair the patches of skin, and you’re good as new.”_

“Oh.” Karkat pauses. He mulls over the information he’s been given. Soon, he’ll be done. He’s received what he came to Anvil Repairs for, and he assumes that it’s time for him to leave. At the very least, he feels that there’s an expectation that he will.

 _“You’ll be free to go after this,”_ Though it’s obvious that Dave is trying his best not to show his emotions, his brow is ever so slightly furrowed. His eyes refuse to rise, and his gaze is locked firmly on the floor. Though he punctuates the commentary with a smile, the expression is hollow. When he’s done, he rushes to begin working on the synthetic skin. He begins the process of mixing it, and seems to invest all his attentions into this singular task.

And, Karkat finds himself unable to form any coherent thoughts. His mind wanders aimlessly, grasping at fallible straws of logic-less drivel. He ponders what would happen if he decided to stay. Perhaps, he’d become friends with Dave. Maybe, the man would let his douchebag visage drop. Or, perhaps, he’d idle his days away in blissful complacency. Either way, he’ll outlive the owners of Anvil Repairs. Regardless of the situation, the outcome will always be the same.

 _“You’re quiet today.”_ Dave’s signing finally manages to grab Karkat’s attention. His lips are curled into a small frown. _“Are you okay, jackass?”_

Karkat shrugs. He avoids addressing the question directly, as this would only mean that he’d have to admit his feelings for Dave. Rather, he circumvents the situation altogether. “I’m fucking fine, Strider. Why would you care, anyhow?”

 _“Because…”_ Dave pauses. His cheeks burn a brilliant pink, and his lips press together. A series of strangled vocalizations escape him, sounding a lot like the whimpering of a fearful animal. His hands, which have been hanging in the air, move to form what seems to be the beginning of a sentence. His right hand moves upwards, until it’s level with his forehead, and he draws a small circle with his index finger. ( _“I’m thinking…”_ ) He freezes. He backtracks. Now, it’s a different verb altogether. He holds both of his hands out in front of him, flattened, with the palms facing upward. When he brings the hands closer to himself, his fingers curl inward. ( _“I want…”_ ) Another pause.

This seems to continue forever, even as the cube of gel for the synthetic skin melts away, forming a bubbling puddle at the bottom of the metal bowl it’s in. Dave fumbles and stammers through responses, only to change his mind. Though Karkat is aware that the entire affair lasts only a few minutes, it feels like hours before the blond finally settles on what to say. _“I was just wondering. It’s not a big deal. Tell me or don’t; I don’t fucking care.”_

“But you _do_ care, you fucking soft lump of sentimentality,” Karkat huffs. He smirks, and he waggles his brows. He knows that he’s cornered Dave. He isn’t sure of what the man was trying to tell him, but he’s aware that there’s something Dave wants to hide.

And, Dave’s own vindictive reply only seems to prove this. _“Fuck! No! I was just going to say that you can stay here if you want, at least until you find somewhere else to live.”_ Despite his insistence, he remains hesitant to make any true connection with his companion. He still keeps his eyes on the ground, and his jaw is set.

Now, Karkat gets the feeling that he’s gone too far. He begins to backtrack. As he responds, he begins to consider the offer. “Well, I’m not going to push you any further. You already seem like you’ve got umpteen bottles shoved up your clenched asshole, so I don’t need to try and add another…”

Dave lets forth a defensive huff. He takes a step back, away from Karkat. At this point, he remembers the hot plate. At this point, the cube is likely fried to hell. There’s no use in checking it; he throws it out, and gets a new one. This time, he sets his watch timer. Ten minutes. He has ten minutes to make his case, and that case is the fact that he doesn’t want Karkat to leave. He’d never admit this to the android’s face, of course, but he feels as if there’s a bond between them. There’s a certain amount of euphoria he feels when he’s around him.

 _“I’m not saying I think you’re homeless,”_ Dave comments, _“I just meant that you don’t seem to have a set place to return to. Do you have a job or specification?”_

“I was an old medical unit. I told you this when we met, you piss-brained fuck-wit,” Karkat says, frowning. He folds his arms across his chest and attempts to make eye contact.

Dave pointedly avoids the gesture. Instead, he stares at the ceiling. _“My memory is shit.”_ What he says isn’t a lie. He simply doesn’t remember some things, and he’s accepted that. What he won’t accept, however, is a chance to keep the only person he knows—the only person outside of his friend group—who he can talk to without an interpreter. _“You say ‘was,’ like you’re not any more. You don’t have a position, so you don’t have a home. Androids can’t own property.”_

“All of this is common, grade school knowledge, jackass. What’s the point?” Karkat huffs.

 _“The point is that it’s not safe for you to go back out there. Shit is hitting the biggest possible proverbial fan, and we’re all fucking screwed. You’re more screwed than anyone, though. Rogue androids aren’t well liked.”_ Dave is fully aware of how awful his commentary is. He knows that Karkat is aware of it all, but he feels compelled to try. At the very least, he has to put in effort. _“There’s no charge, either. You can stay here, maybe we’ll even pay you to help out.”_

“You say _‘we’_ ,” says Karkat, emphasizing his words with air quotes, “But did Rose ever agree to this?”

In the silence and solitude of his mind, Dave lets forth a string of curses. Outwardly, however, he offers little more than a disinterested shrug. _“Maybe not, but I own some of this company, too. I’ll pay you from my share of the profits.”_

“What profit?” The android gestures around the room, toward the dusty shelves and the disorganized counters. His voice booms. “This place is a fucking dump! I’ve seen fast food toilets with more enthusiastic customers!”

Though he doesn’t show it, the commentary hurts Dave. He takes pride in his work, and he considers the shop one of his greatest achievements. Sure, it’s doing poorly. But, all repair places are, now. The growing resentment for androids has put a huge dent in business, and it just so happened to coincide with the opening of Anvil Repairs.

It takes the blond a second to gather enough wits about himself to continue. _“I know it is, but it’s better than being ripped apart by people with their heads so far up their asses that they can see out their own mouths,”_ he counters.

And, to his satisfaction, Karkat pauses. He runs his fingers through his hair. From him, there comes a sigh. Then, a huff. Finally, he rolls his eyes. “Fucking fine. You’re right, Strider. I might as well stay here longer.”

 _“Awesome!”_ Though he tries to hide it, Dave’s excitement is obvious. _“I’ll tell Rose when she gets back from lunch.”_

* * *

**18 JAN 2251:** Planet 42 is a long-standing chain of Skaian restaurants. Each location is built to mimic historic dives, particularly those of 1960’s America, and come stocked with retro-futuristic waitstaff. Their specialty is Old World American food, such as burgers. Regardless of this, as she studies the menu, Rose finds herself craving a pizza. She’s always favored the chain’s plain cheese pizza, though she’ll often get it with mushrooms.

“So…” Across the table, Jade speaks up. Her left hand absentmindedly picks at a patch of dried ketchup on the table, and her lips are pulled into a small smile. “How’s the shop repair going? I’ve just finished sprucing up my place, so I’d be happy to lend a hand with yours!”

Rose responds with a small smile and a courteous shake of her head. “Thank you, Jade, but I believe we have the situation under control. Besides, you seemed to have far more damage than we did.”

“I did, but it was easier to fix. People need food, y’know,” chirps the ever-chipper Jade. “I’ve heard a lot of people talking about leaving Skaia lately. They’re all looking at heading to Prospit. I might, too, if this stuff keeps up.”

“Really?” Kanaya, now, shows a great deal of interest in the discussion. She raises her brows and leans forward, obviously craving more information. “What’s there in Prospit, that we don’t have here?”

“From what I hear, it’s stability,” Rose says, sipping at her glass of water. (She was going to get a mixed drink, but decided against it. Jade knows her too well, and she would have made a scene trying to stop the transaction.)

Jade, in response, nods. “Yeah. Right on the nose. They’re more tolerant of a lot of things there, but it’s not some sort of utopia. They have their problems, and there’ll always be some bitter idiots ready to ruin things for everyone else.”

“Of course, that’s a given. Society cannot exist without both sides of the coin, the good and the bad. Where there’s light, one requires shadow. So on and so forth.”

Kanaya chuckles. She casts a cursory but flirtatious glance in Rose’s direction, but continues the discussion in the same vein of thought. “It’s all a bunch of trade offs, I guess.”

“Yep.” Now, Jade pauses. She studies the menu one final time before looking at Rose. “Have you decided on what to order? I’m going for the Kibble Burger.”

Rose laughs. She rolls her eyes and sets aside her own menu. “You always get that, Jade. No matter, I’m up for the plain cheese pizza. And, before you ask, Jade, I’ll happily acquiesce to you taking some to John. After all, he is a mutual acquaintance of ours.”

“Great!” As per usual, Jade shows her appreciation with a wide, toothy grin. “Then I’ll buzz over the next available waitstaff.” Following her own instructions, she presses a red button on the bottom portion of the napkin dispenser’s facade. It’s constructed to resemble a small jukebox. Having done this, she once again turns her attentions to Rose. “How has Dave been lately? I haven’t heard from him in the past few weeks.”

Rose shrugs. When she’d first moved in with him, she’d kept a close eye on her brother. As time passed, his anxieties seemed to fade away. Of course, he remains on edge, and traces of his trauma remain, but he’s not as bad as he used to be. Lately, though, she has stopped watching him. His activities are his own, and she’s lost interest in ensuring that they’re not entirely illogical or unsafe. Thus, she answers honestly, saying, “I’m not sure. He seems fine, but he’s been fascinated by Karkat.”

“That’s Kanaya’s friend, right?” Jade asks.

Kanaya snickers. “He’s an acquaintance of mine, I suppose. I’m at least concerned about his wellbeing.”

Having confirmed her suspicions, Jade nods. “Well, I’m sure he’ll figure it out.” As she finishes this statement, the waitstaff unit appears to take orders. Once it’s done, it leaves.

The occupants of the table continue talking, though their conversation shifts. Now, they’re merely catching up. A convivial, jovial atmosphere permeates the air, and it’s a welcome respite from the worries that have been plaguing Rose lately.


	13. Void sur ton Chemin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Vois sur ton Chemin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P-Zz_bSCsBE)"** by Bruno Coulais, _Les Choristes_ (2004)

**19 JAN 2251:** Though the android can’t feel it, the air is brisk. There’s a crisp, frigid breeze, which blows persistently down the relatively narrow alleyways of Skaia’s northwest corner. There are no leafs to rustle, and no branches to sway. Rather, the only sound is a low, persistent hum of conversation, and the rattling of crumbling buildings. Signboards squeak and, from time to time, the entire barge will groan. It’s an ugly sound, and each iteration grates against Karkat’s nerves.

“Cities are absolute hell,” he announces, his glowing red eyes scanning through the crowd. When some people see him, they move. Others regard him with morbid fascination. As a whole, people do their best to leave him alone. He doesn’t really care about this; their companionship isn’t something he wants. In fact, his voice grows louder as he continues, “This place is a fucking dump. We’re sinking. Did you know that? This whole place is sinking at a pretty steady rate. We’ll all be up to our eyebrows in poisoned saltwater within the next decade. What’s the point of anything?”

Dave responds to all this with a bemused smirk. _“You’re in a fucking wonderful mood, aren’t you?”_

“I’m doing just peachy,” Karkat huffs. He folds his arms across his chest and draws the collar of his black coat closer to his skin. He imagines that the woolen lining is soft and warm. “I’m just a decaying hunk of metal on a massive, floating monstrosity of engineering. My existence is a fucking lie, and everything I know is being forcefully uprooted by the ugliest, most ass-chapped hands I’ve ever seen.”

Dave’s smirk grows. He rolls his eyes. _“How descriptive!”_

“Yeah, I’ll take up writing when I’m free of this shitty existence,” quips the irritable android. He runs his fingers through his hair and looks up, to the cloudy grey sky, before sighing. He blinks. As he approaches a decorative metal bench, which sits outside of a disheveled flower shop, he runs his fingers along its topmost slat. “What are we even doing out here?”

 _“Nothing. I just wanted to get out of the shop for a while. You didn’t have to come, by the way. I even told you that. You didn’t have to come, but you insisted.”_ As if it will help get his point across, Dave shrugs. He elbows Karkat in the side and flashes a hint of a smile. However, he quickly reverts to his usual expression of apathy. _“Rose and I have been looking into you and Kanaya’s memories.”_ Dave throws the comment out casually. _“We haven’t found much on Kanaya, but we’re alone as fuck, now. I can tell you that we’ve dug up some shit about you.”_

Despite knowing that he should be grateful, Karkat responds with a scoff. “Fucking fantastic. Let me guess. I was some crazed serial killer with a twisted, sadistic thirst for blood?”

Dave laughs, and the sound sends shivers down Karkat’s spine. (Or, rather, he feels as if it does.) It’s soft, but graceless. There’s a hoarse, rough quality to it, perhaps due to his smoking. _“Actually, you were a doctor. Your name comes up in a lot of old journals, but we can’t get past the paywall to see what you published. Not that it would fucking help, I’m sure Rose and I would be lost as fuck trying to figure out what half that shit means.”_

Karkat pauses. He chews on his lip and locks his eyes on the ground. When he considers the information, it makes sense. Why would the mind of, say, a historian be placed in a medical android? “Well,” he says, trying to figure out how to phrase his reply. He wants to express his gratitude, and to tell Dave how much he values him. While he’s shown little more than outward contempt towards the blond, he has to admit that he feels a connection with him. He likes him, and—at the very least—he can appreciate his appearance. “I guess that’s somewhere to fucking start. Good job, Sherlock.” As the sarcastic words leave his mouth, he finds himself wincing.

Dave, however, snickers. _“At least you’re honest. That’s more than Bro ever was.”_ He shrugs, then buries his hands in his pockets. For now, he’s done talking.

And, for now, Karkat is left to wallow in his own disappointment. He retreats inward, to the shaky ground of his thoughts.

* * *

**19 JAN 2251:** The next memory Kanaya recalls comes without provocation. She’s sitting alone in the guest room, knitting. The world fades, disintegrating like pixels on a broken screen. Her nose fills with the smell of old books and weathered paper and dust. All around her, there are cardboard boxes. Each is labeled in flourishing green cursive. There are boxes for records, forms, certificates, and so on. They’re scattered haphazardly around the room, which is mostly barren. However, there is a wall of filing cabinets and a single, rickety desk.

An unknown man speaks up. When Kanaya turns towards the sound, she finds herself facing someone in a moving crew shirt. He wrings his hands together, and he regards the woman before him with a great deal of anxiety. “The room isn’t in the best shape, ma’am, and the desk was broken during transit. We’re honestly not sure what happened, but we’d be more than happy to fix it.”

In return, Kanaya—or, rather, who Kanaya was—smiles. She waves her hand in the air, and a thought crosses her mind. Sure, she’s frustrated, but punishing this innocent worker won’t fix her desk. So, she responds, “It’s no problem, sir. Thank you for the help. You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” the man mutters, bowing. Without another word, he scurries from the room, like a frightened mouse.

Kanaya, meanwhile, finds herself reaching into one of the boxes. Unlike the others, it contains items wrapped in cloth and laid amid a bed of packing peanuts. The front, in the same flourishing script, demarcates it as the receptacle for desk supplies. From this, she plucks a long, almost cylindrical object. As she unwraps it, the shape becomes more defined. It’s a placard, with a solid wooden back.

She turns it around and wipes the faux gold metal nameplate on the sleeve of her sweater. Then, she looks at the name: Kandice Marien.

Her thoughts grind to a halt.

The usual error message appears, but, this time, she’s unable to stop the resultant shutdown.

* * *

**19 JAN 2251:** Rose Lalonde studies the flickering display of her laptop. She scrutinizes the poorly scanned image of an old newspaper, and does her best to pull meaning from it. Most of the print has been faded or ruined. However, one particular segment sticks out. Though the article isn’t legible in its entirety, there are some decent fragments. Above all, the headline is intact.

“Grand Opening of Cherub Institute a Big Success!!”

Beneath this, there’s an image. Like most of the text, it’s horribly preserved. Water stains have distorted most of the image, but it seems to show a woman shaking hands with a man. With the heading as context, Rose assumes it’s the founder meeting a local official.

She begins to read what’s left of the article.

> 1 January 2076, [Unknown city and state], USA: Despite an overcast sky and an occasional drizzle of rain, the long-anticipated children’s home, Cherub Institute, opened with great fanfare. Guests of great renown were seen in attendance, including actor Leonardo DiCaprio III, mayor [obscured name], financier John Jacob Astor, and esteemed author Ludvig Dinklehop. Refreshments were served by volunteers from a variety of local businesses. Food was similarly catered.
> 
> The Cherub Institute has been a planned project for many years, and is the [word obscured] and brainchild of Ms. Kandice Marien. Many readers will likely recognize Ms. Marien as a renowned [city unknown]-based fashion designer and social activist. Her work with children has been praised by… [The rest of the paragraph is illegible.]
> 
> [The first few sentences have been blotted out, using what appears to be white-out.] …includes dormitories capable of comfortably housing up to two hundred children. Each child is given the luxury of their own room and toilet. When questioned about her goals, Ms. Marien responded that she wished to instruct the children in “the values of responsibility, dignity, and self-value.” Other amenities include recreational spaces, a fully stocked and up-to-date library, and kid-friendly kitchens. In regards to the latter, Ms. Marien reassured us that the children will also have the option of receiving free preprepared meals.

Though she tries her best to read further, she finds that her efforts are in vain. Nothing more can be deciphered from the poorly done, grainy image of a badly abused newspaper clipping. However, this page, alone, is far more than she’d ever dreamed of finding.

* * *

**20 JAN 2251:** Unable to sleep, Dave Strider finds himself wandering through the city. Though the light pollution obscures most of the stars, he can see the brightest ones. The wind whistles down the alleyways and sighs across the wider streets. Few cars pass by, and even fewer people are active. Nonetheless, Dave knows of one place that’s always open. It’s about three blocks south of his house, and it’s the local library. (Skaia isn’t exactly known for their libraries, but they’re universally established as safe havens for night owls. Bars often devolve into drunken brawls, and clubs aren’t for everyone. So, when a late-night wanderer needs a place to go, it’s usually the library.)

The building is as drab on the outside as it is on the outside. A rigid, utilitarian concrete facade gives way to walls painted a fading sky blue. Plain white shelves hold the books, and minimalist furniture dominates the study spaces. Three staff members patrol the area, though it seems that Dave is alone. He doesn’t mind, though. In fact, he enjoys the solitude. He takes it as an excuse to peruse the collections.

On a whim, he ends up in the news archives. A glowing, smudge-covered touch screen prompts him to renter a search term or date range. Out of curiosity, he picks the earliest year available: 2100. This results in a long list of articles, all of them pulled from the primary newspaper of Skaia, the Pawn Print. Most of them are boring celebratory pieces on the founding of the city. Some of them mention intriguing events outside of Skaia, such as the revival of some sort of formerly extinct breed of rhino at a distant zoo. However, one title stands out: “Exclusive Interview with Miracle Man Karuna Varma!” Something about the name seems familiar, though he can’t quite place a finger on it. Nonetheless, he taps on the article.

When it loads, he skims through it. He’s not really interested in its details, he merely wants to know what earned this man his title. And, within seconds of beginning, Dave locates the source of the nickname. From what he can tell, this Varma character pioneered the cure for a common form of leukemia. There’s a fair bit of jargon, which he can’t make any sense of, but he grasps the basics. This guy is a big deal, whoever he is.

Despite the promising start, Dave quickly loses interest. There’s too much medical rambling. He stops reading, resets the news kiosk, and proceeds into the inner courtyard. Like the library’s front, the space is purely utilitarian. There’s not adornment on the concrete benches, which are little more than raised slabs. Here, too, Dave is alone. More importantly, he’s allowed to smoke. And, he absolutely does so. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pockets, taps it until one slips out, and sticks the singular tobacco-stuffed paper roll between his lips. Then, he falls into a pensive silence.

 


	14. Window to the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Window to the Past](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9oSo6dIBwFg)"** by John Williams, _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ (2004)

**21 JAN 2251:** “I don’t see why _all_ of us had to be out here. This is fucking stupid,” Karkat complains. His hands are buried in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, and his head is bowed. His shoulders are hunched, and he looks like the perfect image of a disgruntled hobo. All of his clothes are in the wash, which he vehemently objected to, and he’s currently swaddled in Dave’s two-sizes-too-big clothes. “Humans don’t possess any logical capabilities, do they? All of you soft, mushy organics are the same. You make a decision, and you run with it until you hit a massive wall of steel and lead.”

“Maybe,” Rose shrugs.

Kanaya simply rolls her eyes.

Dave remains silent, as usual.

“What are we doing, anyhow?” the brasher of the two androids asks.

Now, Dave responds. He holds his right hand out in an ‘O’ shape; it’s just beneath his chin. In a swift motion, he throws it forward, flattening it into a loose, downward-facing ‘S’ shape in the process. ( _“Nothing.”_ This version of the sign is informal, and could be more aptly translated as, _“Nuthin.”_ ) From here, he continues, _“We’re just wandering around. John and Jade were going to meet us for lunch, but both of them ended up having other shit to do. Jade is tending to some gardening. John has to do some bureaucratic nonsense.”_

Kanaya offers a small smile. “Well, it’s an enjoyable outing.”

“Maybe for you,” huffs Karkat, folding his arms across his chest. “I’d rather be getting my mind rewritten. Plug in a flash drive and infuse me with the worst virus you’ve got in your fucking arsenal, kids, because it’s definitely better than this.”

Rose snickers. She entangles her fingers with Kanaya’s. Her expression is innocent, but she’s as slick as sandpaper.

Meanwhile, Karkat’s annoyance grows. A low, guttural, and electronically distorted growl escapes him. His mouth twitches into a snarl. “Why did I fucking do this?”

Dave furrows his brows and frowns, forming an inquisitorial expression. He holds both hands out, each forming an outward-pointing ‘D’, and pinches his fingers together. ( _“Do what?”_ )

“Agree to stay with all of you piss-brained, shit-scented fucknuggets,” Karkat snaps. Despite his words, he can’t help but feel a certain fondness for the group he’s been adopted into. Nonetheless, he must maintain outward appearances.

Rose, however, seems to see through this ruse. She smiles wryly. “Have you always been this irritable, Karkat?”

“YES!” he lies. Inside of his sweatshirt pocket, Karkat wrings his hands together. “And I’m not looking for a therapist. Go bug someone else.”

“Oh,” Rose shrugs. She’s unaffected by the commentary. “It was merely an innocent question.”

“Right,” says Karkat. Though he doubts that Rose is simply asking for the sake of curiosity, he says nothing more; he’s learned over time that he’s the king of adding fuel to the fire, and this isn’t a flame he wants to keep burning. “Well, whatever. Dave, you’re more pleasant conversation. And, by that, I mean I don’t have to listen to your undoubtedly horrific voice.”

 _“Thanks.”_ The blond accompanies his response with a smirk and a waggling brow.

Karkat ignores this. He stubbornly presses on, forcing the discussion into the tedious land of speaking just to hear himself talk. Not that this is a problem; Dave is clearly more than happy to oblige with his own asinine rambling. And, that’s no issue, either. In fact, Karkat’s grown fond of it. He likes the way Dave will sign with such emotional disconnect, yet he can sense the excitement in his gestures. He’s grown to love Dave’s subtle facial expressions and the fluidity with which he speaks. There’s a laziness to Dave’s signing. His words blend together, and gestures are done with rehearsed imprecision.

There’s no doubt in Karkat’s mind that he’s fallen for this man, and that fact, alone, terrifies him.

* * *

 **21 JAN 2251:** Rose returned to the store alone, having split away from the group earlier. Though she hadn’t said it, Dave knew it was because she was going to a bar. She didn’t need to say it; Dave knows the face of addiction. He was raised by it. And, now, he’s seeing what it can do. Or, rather, he’s seeing what it can cause people to overlook.

The store is in shambles. The once organized drawers of parts behind the counter have been spilled onto the floor, their frames broken and torn apart. The register drawer hangs open, and what little there was inside is gone. Expensive display pieces have been removed, their equally costly display cases broken beyond repair, and the front door no longer closes. “Gearfucker,” a derogatory term for people sympathetic to the plight of androids, has been graffitied, in dark purple spray paint, on the window displays. Crude, obscene images accompany the phrase.

And, unharmed at the center of this carnage, is Rose. She’s clearly drunk, and she doesn’t seem aware of what’s around her. In fact, when Dave enters, she greets him with a haphazard wave.

Naturally, he responds with unbridled frustration. _“What the actual fuck, Rose? How long has the store been like this?”_

“It was like this when I got here.” Rose shrugs.

Kanaya lets forth a nervous groan. She interrupts, speaking before Dave can even prepare himself. “You’re saying it was robbed before we returned?”

“Mm,” Rose hums. She runs her fingers through her hair and staggers to her feet. She sways uncertainly, and catches herself on the nearby wall. “I fucking guess. That’s what I’d assume happened.”

 _“You didn’t bother to tell us!?”_ Dave’s hands shake as he responds. He bites his lip, digging his teeth in until he tastes blood. _“Rose, what the actual hell!?”_

The other blonde responds with a haughty laugh. “Calm down, David, everything is fine!”

Dave readies a reply, only to be stopped by Karkat. He looks at the hand over his, and follows it up, until he meets the android’s red gaze.

“I think we should break this up for now,” Karkat cautions.

Likewise, across the room, Kanaya allows Rose to lean against her. She leads the drunken woman upstairs, to her room, in silence.

* * *

 **21 JAN 2251:** By now, Dave has fallen asleep. He leans against Karkat, his hands folded peacefully across his chest. Karkat can’t feel him, but he can imagine the sensations. There’s likely a gentle pressure from the man’s weight against him, and he’d be warm. His skin would be soft, his hair smooth. He wonders what Dave would smell like. Perhaps, he would reek of oil and grease. Or, maybe, he’d have the bitter scent of tobacco clinging to him.

The man’s room is nothing like Karkat thought it would be. The walls are covered in careful technical drawings, which feature impossibly small details. Books of poetry and classical literature line the makeshift shelf in the corner, which is constructed from old plywood and discarded sheets of corrugated metal. Cartons of cigarettes form a cascading pile at the foot of the bed, and the built-in desk is covered in photographs. They show Dave in earlier times, alongside a man whose face has been ripped from the photo. There are more telling things, too. From his spot atop the bed, Karkat can see the title of a discarded book beneath a pile of dirty laundry, _Confident Speech and Communication_. A small mound of printed webpages, all of them addressing public speaking, has made its home in one of the corners.

The disarray bothers Karkat. Were it not for the man sleeping against him, he’d be trying to reorganize the place. For now, though, he’s resigned himself to watching the television at the foot of the bed. The news is on, and the reporter is speaking about something that’s currently unfolding.

From what Karkat can gather, as the audio has been turned off, the capital was attacked. Images of the burning building, with is Greco-Roman facade outlined against the flames, have been flashing across the screen for the past hour or so. In front of the destroyed structure, there are protesters. They carry signs decrying the creation of androids, claiming that no machine is human. Helicopters fly overhead. Some carry heavily armed enforcers, while others battle the raging blaze.

The outcome grows dimmer and dimmer with every passing minute. Even without sound, Karkat can hear the percussive bangs of gunfire as the enforcers march through the crowd. Yet, instead of taking the protesters into custody, they target androids. They hunt down the fleeing and broken units, and shut them down with electric shock rods. The entire affair sickens Karkat, and his stomach churns, yet he can’t stop watching. What else can he do?

He watches, staring in abject horror as counter-protesters, who call for peace and unity, are corralled into vans. Clouds of tear gas roll over the crowd, like a blanket being pulled over a dead body, and people flee. Soon enough, the imagery verges on violent pornography. As the crowds disperse, the film crews continue working. Aerial shots show corpses. They’re splayed everywhere, littering the ground. The city center is now a morbid splatter painting of blood, and any hope of safety—for androids and humans alike—has been lost.


	15. Phantom's Theme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Phantom's Theme (Beauty and the Beast)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_e-z25zwKO4)"** by Paul Williams, _Phantom of the Paradise_ (1974)

**22 JAN 2251:** Though Kanaya called for help, none ever came. Instead, the street was blocked off. The store was barricaded, and instructions were given to remain indoors.

Now, there’s a steady drone from outside. People murmur nervously amongst themselves, wondering, aloud, if they’ll survive what’s to come. And, above it all, the same announcement plays on repeat: “The Skaia Grand Council has instituted marshal law. All citizens, excluding those with jobs classified as Sector V, are to remain indoors. We want you, our citizens, to be happy and safe.” By now, it’s become nothing more than background noise.

Now, as hail pelts the windows and batters the roof, Dave sits in his room. He leans against Karkat, reveling in the warmth of the android, and listens to the steady whirring and clanking of the inner workings. And, as he does this, he recalls what he read in the library. Without really thinking about it, he spells out the name.

This seems to capture Karkat’s attention. His gaze zeroes in on Dave, and his eyes narrow. “Where the fuck did you hear that name?”

Dave shrugs. _“I read about him in the library a few days ago. He cured a really common form of leukemia, apparently.”_

Karkat nods. He folds his arms across his chest and worries his bottom lip. From him, there comes a thoughtful hum. Then, he speaks. “That’s in my memories.” He pauses, stares at the ground, and frowns. “At least, I think it is. I fucking think that I remember it. I saw it.”

To this, Dave has little to say. He’s never understood the complex code of robots; he’s better with the physical aspects. Rose would know more than he could ever hope to about this, but he’s not about to talk to her any time soon. Instead, he offers a nonspecific huff.

And, Karkat takes this as a cue to continue. He tangles his hands in his hair and recounts to Dave what he knows. “I was there. I saw the papers and the tests. It was fucking there, sitting like a sack of shit in front of me. But it doesn’t feel real. It’s literally a fucking lifetime ago, and I can’t connect myself to anything about it. _I_ didn’t do any of it. I just pumped sedatives into screaming trauma patients and puttered along as a grunt. But, that means that I was real.”

 _“You’re real now, idiot,”_ Dave frowns. He tries to offer a smile, but feels as if it ends up looking like a threatening grin. Still, he perseveres, _“You exist. You’re sitting on my goddamned bed, spewing this deep shit out to me like some sort of philosophy major.”_

“I guess.”

_“You guess? What is this, twenty questions?”_

Karkat rolls his eyes. “You don’t fucking get it, Strider. I’m a brain in a jar, and I’ve only ever existed as some third-rate citizen. The fact that I solved a fucking huge problem however many years ago doesn’t matter. I’m just another robot in a sea of bullshit, splashing like a dumbass in an ocean filled with live toasters. I could espouse mountains of passionate prose about the nature of existence, and beguile you with tales of my identity, but that won’t change shit!” he snaps all this back in a calamitous cascade of words. The longer he speaks, the angrier he gets.

And, yet, Dave remains calm. When the tirade comes to an end, he pats Karkat on the shoulder. Again, he attempts a reassuring smile. _“You’re right. I don’t get it. I’ll never get it. Trying to understand what’s going on in your head is like trying to fish an anteater from the ocean, but I can listen. I can make some sort of shitty, ironic attempt at helping you.”_

The expression on Karkat’s face shifts from anger to confusion. “Why? Give me one acceptable reason that you’d like to help me.”

Dave smiles, though his cheeks burn a vivid pink. His response begins by pointing at Karkat. Then, he holds the pressed together index and middle finger of his right hand up, in front of his chin, and flicks them inward, as if motioning for Karkat to come to him. ( _“You’re cute.”_ )

An oppressive silence follows.

Karkat seems to mull over the question, allowing his eyes to wander around the disheveled room. Every second that passes without an answer fills Dave with more dread, and, when Karkat finally speaks, he breathes a sigh of relief. “I guess you’re okay, too. You don’t look like a prolapsed anus, at least.”

_“I’ll take that as a complement, coming from you.”_

“Don’t expect too many, you puffed-up shit.” Despite the scowl, Dave can tell that Karkat doesn’t mean what he says. However, when the android’s topic suddenly changes, he’s serious. “You really think that was me? I mean… I couldn’t have done anything that fucking phenomenal.”

_“Of course you could, you shit. If you remember what you say you do, then it probably is. I don’t know how it works, but that sounds more solid than a fucking continent. There’s probably more memories, too. They’re in there, somewhere, and that shit is just waiting to spill out.”_

“It’ll come like a flood of suffocating molasses,” Karkat says, humorlessly.

Dave, however, can’t help but laugh. _“Trust me. Do you trust me?”_

Karkat considers this question. He wrings his hands together and closes his eyes. After a few minutes, a reluctant sigh comes forth. “I don’t really have any better options, now, do I, fuckface?”

 _“Yeah. You’re stuck with me, loser. You, me, and the concept of individuality. It’s a shitty novel that’ll never fucking end.”_ As he signs this, Dave waggles his brows. Then, he throws his arm over Karkat’s shoulder. He flashes a wide smile, only to quickly revert to his usual look of apathy.

Karkat seems to get the point. He, too, offers a reluctant smile. “You’re not the worst person I could be forced to be around, I guess,” he admits.

* * *

 **22 JAN 2251:** As she sits in her room, alongside Kanaya, Rose swears off drinking ever again. Her head throbs, her body aches, and the looping loudspeaker announcement is little more than another noise drilling through her skull. “That was… quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” she announces.

Kanaya, preoccupied with the task of braiding Rose’s hair, shrugs. She offers a noncommittal hum. “You could do worse. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I guess.” Rose sighs. She stares up, at the quietly buzzing lightbulb at the center of her ceiling, and frowns. A memory pops up in her head, and she speaks up. “I saw something online a few days ago,” she says, her voice seemingly too loud. “It was an article about a woman, Kandice Marien, who founded the Cherub Institute.”

To this, Kanaya’s eyes widen. She stares at Rose, in silence, for a few seconds. Then, with a voice dripping with hesitant shock, she speaks. “The Cherub Institute,” she repeats. “Yes… I remember, now. I… I was head of the Cherub Institute. It was a children’s home.”

“That’s what the article said.”

“Well, that certainly explains a lot. I can see why they’d upload the mind of this particular woman to an android designed for childcare,” Kanaya thinks aloud. She leaps from her spot on the bed and bounds towards the computer, where she begins to eagerly browse the web. “My name was Kandice Maryam, and I lived in Boston. I…” She pauses. Her frenetic typing comes to a sudden halt. Then, with a pitiful frown, she turns to face Rose. “I wish I could remember more… There’s so much I want to know.”

In response, the blonde buries her head beneath the nearest pillow. She groans, but still offers her aid. “When I’m no longer hungover, I shall attempt to undo the barrier between your memories and your conscious mind. Right now, it appears the the update created a small leak. The memories you were never supposed to see have begun to slowly transfer over, like downloading a large file through a slow connection.”

As the typing resumes, Kanaya offers an understanding nod. “And what of you?”

“What about me?”

“What if the memories I access change who I am?”

Rose snickers. She rolls onto her side, but remains buried beneath the pillow. For now, it’s helping to dampen the otherwise overwhelming noise of the world. “Unless you want it to, it won’t. You’ve grown to be your own person, and you are entirely independent of any quondam existences.”

Again, the typing stops. Kanaya, her jaw set and her brows furrowed, tilts her head to the side. “And you know this for sure?”

“No,” Rose admits. “I’ve never before attempted this, and I’ve seen no reliable documentation of anyone ever doing this, but I’m sure nothing will happen.” Sensing the newfound seriousness of the discussion, Rose comes out of hiding. She sits up, smooths out her hair, and continues, now meeting Kanaya’s gaze, “There are two iterations of you. There is the person you are now, and the person you were.”

Another nod.

“These memories will allow you to envision the former of these two personalities. I’ve been told that most Kobian models have similar programmed personalities to that of their Donor, anyhow. Anecdotal stories show that personalities trend even more towards the Donors’ over time.” Here, Rose pauses. She leans over, takes the glass of water from the bedside table, and downs the whole thing in several eager gulps. Then, after wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her sweater, she continues, saying, “Whatever the case is, I will continue to love you.”

Kanaya smiles, though there’s a poignant uncertainty to it. Her voice, too, is less confident. “I’m flattered.” She turns, looks at the screen, and frowns.

From her spot on the bed, Rose can see that Kanaya is looking at a global map. She hovers over a portion of the ocean.

“I remember this, too,” Kanaya mutters, “It’s not there. Cherub Institute was flooded by rising sea levels.”

Now, Rose intervenes. “I wouldn’t try and uncover too much at once. An excessive amount of new data could…”

As if on cue, Kanaya lets forth an electronic sputtering. She freezes, and the coloration of her eyes indicates that she’s shut down. However, within a matter of minutes, she’s back.

And, to be sure that her message is heard, Rose repeats herself. “I’d suggest stepping back for a bit, dear. You’re going to fry a circuit.”

Kanaya seems to agree. She rises from her seat, and rejoins Rose on the bed. Again, she begins to braid the blonde’s hair. “Was this ever supposed to happen?”

“What? Were you ever intended to access your memories?”

“Yes.”

Rose replies without hesitation. “No. Androids were intended as servile units, whose function was purely to benefit humans. It’s a disgusting, parasitic relationship. If you consider it, we grant androids life. Then, we subjugate them.”

“I’ve heard it’s different elsewhere,” Kanaya says, her tone hopefully.

Rose, however, shakes her head. “It’s _better_ elsewhere. Nowhere is perfect.”

“Surely,” the android implores, “It is better than here.”

“Of course it is, but…” A moment of thought follows this comment. Rose chews on her lip and picks up some unfinished knitting from her desk. As she resumes work on what she assumes to be a scarf, she speaks up, “To make a perfect place, we’d have to start over.”

“True.” Kanaya falls silent. An air of pensive introspection hangs about her.

Rose, meanwhile, continues working. Her headache is beginning to fade, and she feels as if she can finally think clearly. And, in this state of clarity, she realizes what she’s done. She considers the impact she’s had on Dave, and a wave of guilt washes over her. At the same time, she sees a silver lining. Her relapse has been caught early, and it will be easier to fix now. Of course, it won’t be a walk in the park, but she’s better at nipping it in the bud than she is at trying to prune an overgrown behemoth.


	16. Flare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a Homestuck song.

**23 JAN 2251:** Rose Lalonde leans against the southeastern wall of the guest bedroom. She picks at a a patch of peeling paint, and hums in surprise when a chunk falls away. “You seem distracted,” she says, her voice soft.

Across the room, sitting atop her bed, is Kanaya. She looks up, shrugs, and continues her knitting. “I’m just thinking. That’s all.”

“About what?”

“Who I was, I guess.” Here, Kanaya frowns. Her brows knit together and her gaze wanders, eventually falling upon the flickering overhead bulb. “Presumably, I built a childcare empire. I ran an orphanage, and it seems that I had a great amount of success doing so.”

“These are all understandable and logical assumptions.” Folding her arms across her chest, Rose, too, begins to think about what she knows. She’s yet to come across any further information about the android’s past life, though she hasn’t had much time to really look. After all, things have been chaotic… “Well, what, precisely, are you considering?”

Kanaya shrugs. “Nothing in particular, really. The orphanage no longer exists, and it seems its legacy has long since withered.”

“But your memories still exist, and it’s perfectly reasonable that you could rebuild.” Having said this, Rose runs her fingers through her hair. “Perhaps… Not here, of course. Skaia would never allow such a thing. There’s too much turmoil already. No, we’d have to leave here. Somewhere else, though…”

“Elsewhere, yes,” Kanaya agrees eagerly. She pauses, seemingly considering her options, before offering a look of realization. “I’ve heard rumors of Prospit. It’s a nearby barge city, an artificial colony built by unionists. The foundation of its society is a peaceful harmony between machine and man.”

“Nowhere is perfect,” Rose objects, though she can’t help but take interest in Kanaya’s proposal. She, too, has heard of this place. “However, anything is better than here.”

“My point exactly,” Kanaya nods. A triumphant smile spreads across her face, and she pats the spot beside her on the bed. “If you’d like, you should come sit by me.”

Finding no reason to object, Rose obliges. She walks over, and takes the open spot. After a few minutes, she leans against Kanaya’s shoulder. The internal humming and clacking of the robotic machinery echoes in her ears, like a heartbeat. And, as she listens to this steady rhythm, Rose finds herself drifting off. Eventually, with the robot’s warmth enveloping her, she falls asleep.

* * *

**23 JAN 2251:** “You’re nothing like the other humans I’ve met.” Karkat’s voice is rough, like pebbles rubbing against one another, yet it’s soft. The usual bite isn’t there, and his volume seems to be lower than it often is. His irises, which still give off a gentle, pulsating red glow, light the pile of junk he’s sifting through. “I mean… I’m going to be perfectly fucking frank with you, Strider. You’re a freak.”

Dave, in returns, shrugs. He’s heard worse. He’s been called much, much worse. He drops the junk he’s working with to sign a reply. The movements are awkward, and impeded by the thick protective gloves he’s wearing, but he considers them to be understandable. _“That’s a solid assumption.”_

“Yeah, like that,” Karkat huffs. He pauses, pries a rusted, mangled old car muffler from the debris, and grimaces. “Most people would have had their problems fixed. That’s what it’s like around here, right? You’re fucked up, you go and get yourself un-fucked. People don’t like it when shit doesn’t meet their absurd, socially groomed expectations, right?”

Again, Dave shrugs. Both index fingers point outward, and he holds his hands at chest height. In a single, swift movement, the right hand comes down, with the side resting against the top of the left hand. ( _“You’re right.”_ )

“And?” Karkat prods.

Normally, Dave would be hesitant to continue. In fact, he’s never before revealed anything about his own past. The only exception to this rule is Rose, to whom he revealed a great deal of his personal history. However, this was on a strict family basis. She’s his sister, and she owns the house he lives in; if neither of these conditions existed, he wouldn’t have told her a thing. Yet, now, in the relative silence of the city dump, sifting through piles of trash, he feels comfortable. Somehow, alongside this android, he feels a sense of ease. It’s a strange, wondrous sensation, —a comfort he’s never before known—to be able to let himself speak without fear of severe punishment or ridicule. And, without second thoughts, he does.

 _“It’s not an easy fix. They can’t just go in and patch up my vocal cords or wave a wand and fix this shit with a mysterious incantation.”_ Dave frowns. He takes a seat atop an old refrigerator, paying no mind to what sort of dirt and grime he’s accumulating. (He’s already digging through trash to replace stolen parts, after all. What’s the use in worrying about staying clean?) _“Did I already tell you everything? I forget.”_

Karkat shrugs. His brows press together, and his lips form a small frown. “I think you told me something, but it was the bare minimum. I could probably have found out more about your shitty life by asking the nearest fire hydrant. ‘Hey, dude, do you know anything about some robot-fucking dumbass named Dave Strider?’ I’m sure the hydrant would’ve been more than happy to supply some dirt on you.”

A snort of laughter escapes Dave, though the joy is short lived. His gaze pulls away from Karkat, and he focuses his attentions on the ground. _“I’m an anomaly. Doctors look at me and shit themselves in excitement, which is why I do my damnedest to avoid them like the plague. My brain was pretty much fried like a shitty egg. The yolk was all over the place, and it’s a goddamned miracle I’m even able to understand anything more than the most basic fucking concepts of living. I should be comatose or dead, really.”_

“Really?” Karkat says. The look on his face says it all: he knows it’s a stupid question.

Dave, however, gracefully overlooks this. _“Really.”_ He confirms. Then, he continues, _“My memory is pretty spotty, and I’m pretty shitty at reading things. People, words, numbers. All of it’s goddamned Wingdings to me.”_ Without thinking about it, Dave pulls down his shades. He hides his eyes behind their reflective black surface, and hopes that the heat rising to his cheeks isn’t as painfully obvious as it feels. _“I had to relearn everything. Bro wouldn’t help. I never managed to get back anything resembling intelligible speech, and I taught myself sign language.”_

“Oh…”

 _“That’s my shitty life story, from beginning to terrible, tragic end.”_ Dave turns his face away from Karkat. He fights against the rising lump in his throat. _“I know you don’t really know much about your past, but I guess you can share with the class what you know. Or ask some questions.”_

“What does it sound like?” The words have escaped Karkat before Dave is even finished. By the look of abject horror on his face, he knows it’s a bad question. And, his words back up his guilt. “I mean… Fuck. Sorry. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Here he goes again, the amazing Vantas! Watch him absolute fuck over everything he does, and then completely botch his botch!”

A quiet snicker escapes Dave, though he finds himself debating what to do. He’s spoken before, though it’s never anything more than a sound to attract attention. A quick ‘hey’ is the most he’ll do. And, yet, he feels relaxed enough to make an attempt. Behind the protective veil of his shades, he looks Karkat in the eye. He opens his mouth, willing words to form. It shouldn’t be so hard, —two syllables, ‘Car’ and ‘Cat’—but it is. His mind stumbles, and he finds his words blurring together. At the end of it all, he manages little more than a repeated ‘K’ sound. Again, he prays that his blushing isn’t as obvious as it feels.

Karkat, meanwhile, frowns. Then, his lips press together, forming a line of concern. He redirects his gaze, and his fingers curl into tight fists. “Sorry. That was fucking stupid… I shouldn’t have asked you to do that.”

 _“It’s fine,”_ Dave lies, frantically smothering his rising embarrassment.

“If you say so.” It’s clear that the android doesn’t believe the response

And Dave isn’t willing to push the issue. He closes his eyes for a moment, and breathes in. The overwhelming stench of filth and decay fill his nostrils and burns his throat, tasting like the spoiled food he’d scrounge from the dumpsters as a child. It reminds him that he’s alive, and grounds him. Eventually, he opens his eyes. He stares at Karkat, studying the android’s jawline. He takes in the way his hair bristles in the light breeze, and how the synthetic skin of his face moves with such natural ease and grace.

He wants to say something aloud, yet he doesn’t. He won’t. Instead, he busies himself with the task at hand. Once again, he delves into the garbage surrounding him. He begins to pull apart electronics, searching for anything useful. Motors, screws, bolts, and gears. Everything needs to be replaced, and this is the cheapest way to do it.

* * *

**24 JAN 2251:** According to the ever-present clock display in the lower left corner of Kanaya’s vision, it is 1:00 AM. The world seems to mirror this fact. The usual cacophony of the city has dwindled to a low hum, with the primary sounds being the sounds of distant traffic and the occasional rumble of a passing car. It is dark, and the streetlights have gone out. Out the window, a few stars are visible. They are the brightest, as the central city lights block out the rest. Yet, they shimmer with upbeat resilience, blithely unaware of what happens below.

Rose sleeps soundly. Through some complex rearranging, Kanaya managed to lay the blonde down beside her. Now, with her arms wrapped around the woman’s warm body, she listens to her heartbeat. She considers hew existence. Rose is a mortal being. She will wither and die, like everyone else Kanaya has ever known, and their relationship will end. Not that it’s going to last that long. Surely, Kanaya figures, it will end before then.

Still, she can’t help but contemplate the possibilities…

_Thump thump. Thump thump._

The steady pounding reminds Kanaya of her own life, as a wandering android. She’s been rejected and ejected from countless areas, driven to the edges of the city that made her. And, here, in the land of outcasts, she seems to have found her niche. For the first time in a long while, she’s happy. She feels at ease, and she has a home. Duty and honor be damned. Expectations and technical specifications be damned. She feels emotion and experiences love, and, if anything in the world is true, she loves Rose Lalonde. If she had a heart, she’s sure it would beat in tune with this woman’s.

She runs her fingers through Rose’s hair, and revels in its softness. She feels the woman’s warmth against her, and savors the steady rise and fall of her body as she breathes. There’s something about Rose that overpowers Kanaya’s otherwise placid nature. This woman, for some reason, makes her feel things she’d long since lost. She remembers what it’s like to be loved and appreciated, something that people never truly showed to her. Why would they? She was made to be their obedient servant, with no will or thought of her own.

A yawn. Long arms stretch upwards, and slender fingers follow suit. Rose rolls over, so that she’s facing Kanaya, and offers a weary smile. Her eyes open, though not fully, as she speaks, saying, “Oh. Hello, sweetums.” Her voice is soft, her words slurred. Obviously, she’s not completely awake. She might not even remember this when she wakes, but Kanaya will. Kanaya commits the woman’s gentle smile and fluttering lashes to memory, and she holds onto this as tightly as she can.

To Kanaya, Rose is the beauty she’d long since forgotten. She’s the vibrant flower, which grows through the cracks between the sidewalk as nature’s stubborn defiance of mankind’s eternal quest for control.

 


	17. Christmas Eve / Sarajevo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Christmas Eve/Sarajevo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHioIlbnS_A)"** by Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

**24 JAN 2251:** In her free time, Rose often studies the history of Skaia. The relatively young barge city has been home to the Fringe Cafe since its inception, and the building is one of the few existent originals. It’s a small, one-story bungalow-style structure, which mimics a typical continental home of early historic America. Inside, the walls are paneled with authentic wood (a rarity and costly import nowadays), and the furniture is built to mimic the exterior’s time period. It’s a quaint, homey little place, whose clientele has shifted with the times. Once a purely upper class establishment, it is now a popular hangout for the lower and middle classes. Thus, it makes the perfect meeting place for a group of concerned friends.

As per usual, Jade arrives early. John arrives late. They both sit next to each other, and order mirror opposite meals. John asks for the biggest burger they can make, and Jade settles for a humble spinach, apple, and mandarin orange salad. Their outfits, too, are contrasting. John wears an informal white undershirt and khaki slacks, while Jade is clad in her green work uniform. They’re an interesting pair, and their mannerisms have always piqued Rose’s interests. This, however, is not the topic of today’s meeting. Today, they gather to discuss more important affairs.

“The separatists grow increasingly antagonistic,” Rose says this as she stirs her tea. Though there’s a nonplussed expression on her face, it covers a deep, growing concern. “Violent attacks are on the rise, and it’s only a matter of time before they reach us. John, I believe you can vouch for my unhappy presumptions?”

Though the man pauses for a moment, he ultimately nods. His usual bucktoothed smile fades. “Yeah, shit is going down downtown. We’ve gotten bomb threats, and we’ve been stopping attacks left and right. I’m surprised the city hasn’t just collapsed on itself.” As if to emphasize his point, John squishes his hands together. A farting noise seems to be his final comment.

Jade and Dave share a snicker.

Kanaya, however, is more serious. She frowns and folds her arms across her chest. With a thoughtful grunt, she leans back, into the faded leather backrest of her chair. “It seems most people have adopted the usual, stupid ‘it will never happen to me’ attitude. I refuse to do so.”

“I agree,” Karkat emphatically interjects. His brows manage to furrow more than usual, and his expression is akin to one of pure horror. “We’re just fucking around now, but tomorrow could be the day we’re all carted off to be melted down for scrap metal.”

“We could lighten up a little bit,” John objects.

Jade shakes her head. She, too, loses her usual grin. “We’re more than a little fucked,” she says. “They’ve been bouncing around a new bill to outlaw autonomous androids. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“Don’t look at me! I’m not a congressional person.”

“We weren’t fucking looking at you, Egbert,” Karkat snaps.

Rose sighs. She raises a hand in the air, signaling for the group to quiet themselves. “We’re getting too loud. If we’re heard discussing such matters, who knows what sort of chaos could befall us? Lower your voices.”

The commentary elicits a growl of frustration from Karkat. When he continues speaking, his voice is softer. “We are all so insanely, outrageously fucked. I’ve never seen any group of people so goddamned doomed to eternal damnation at the hands of their own people than we are.”

Dave, meanwhile, remains poignantly silent. He refuses to discuss the matters at hand, but he listens diligently.

When Jade speaks up, he notices the tone in her voice. He takes note of her forced smile. “So, Dave, ho have you been? Anything interesting happening?”

A shrug. With deft precision, Dave responds, _“Not really. This discussion is grim as fuck, though.”_

“Tell me about it.” Jade offers a nervous laugh, but it does little to cover for her obvious discomfort. “What do you think about all of this?”

 _“I’m bad enough at understanding what’s happening now,”_ is Dave’s honest reply. He punctuates it with a half-hearted smirk and a roll of his eyes. _“I don’t know what sort of shit could go down tomorrow, so I don’t bother taxing myself too much with figuring it out.”_

“Understandable.” Though Jade seems to want to say more, she’s cut off by the sudden delivery of everyone’s meals. With more excitement than necessary, she begins consuming her salad.

Dave turns his attentions to the rest of the group.

John is fidgeting, and he’s yet to touch his burger. His gaze is locked onto his plate, and his words are chosen with uncharacteristic care. “There’s whispers of plots against the government. People are getting angry. Now is the time to leave if you want to preserve what little you have.”

The rest of the group freezes. Everyone looks to the usually cheerful man, who now seems distant and reserved.

Rose, especially, takes interest. She inquires further. “And what of our livelihoods? What should we do with that?”

“You’ve already been robbed,” Karkat says, “We might as well get the fuck out of here. There’s nothing left, is there?”

Now, Dave feels compelled to speak up. He clears his throat, and continues once everyone is looking at him. _“I’ve never known anything but here,”_ he signs with an unnerving amount of sincerity. _“I don’t know what to do out there, and hell knows what sort of shit we’d be in.”_

“None of us do,” Jade says. Her voice is soft, and she places a gentle hand on Dave’s shoulder.

“I do, and it’s nothing compared to here. Should we decide to leave, we’ll be faced with hardships. This is a given. But, we’d do better than we’re doing here,” says Rose.

“A perfectly reasonable point, but I’m sure there’s hesitancy. What if conditions improve? What if it all blows over?” Kanaya speaks up, and her words resonate with Dave. He finds himself nodding along.

And, John seems to take note of this. He shakes his head. When he speaks, his words are dripping with exasperation. “This won’t just blow over, guys. We’re kind of stuck. This has been building up for years, and we have to deal with it. It sucks, but that’s just how it’s going.”

Though his passive expression doesn’t show it, Dave’s heart drops. His world is crumbling around him, and he’s only just begun to see what it could be. He can’t help but speak up, _“Why now!? Why the fuck is it happening now? My life has been a tumbleweed of bullshit from day one, and it’s finally gotten out in the big, wide, stupid desert of life. And, now, what? It’s getting lit on fire!”_

Another gentle hand presses against Dave’s shoulder. When he turns, he finds himself facing Karkat. The android’s expression is kind and calming. “This is what happens when people don’t understand others. That’s just how shit gets fucked, Strider. It’s not your fault, and it’s not my fault. People are just prone to understanding things differently, and that means that there’s always going to be some sort of god-awful bullshit going on.”

Across the table, the other blonde finds herself nodding. “While I disagree with your phrasing, your point is built upon a solid foundation. Our current situation is the result of generations of poor choices and miscommunication, and we’re simply the ones to deal with it. This is just how things are, and it’s not necessarily anyone’s fault. If anything, the most flawed individuals along this line of cause and effect are those who initially held prejudices against Kobian androids.”

“We can’t blame anyone,” Kanaya, too, nods. She looks toward the television in the corner and shakes her head. “And, perhaps, we shouldn’t leave.”

“What!?” The chorus of confusion is unanimous.

Kanaya, however, remains firm. “There’s a revolution. This is a fact. And, perhaps, it will come out on the wrong end. Or, maybe, we’ll get what we want. Perhaps, this city will rebuild itself in the model of Prospit.”

Dave offers a bitter laugh. _“You really think that will happen?”_

“It could,” interjects John, with his usual brand of optimism. (Judging by her invigorated nodding, Jade seems to have agreed with this assumption.)

The original commentator, though, seems to have rethought her words. She shakes her head. “No, you’re right. The chances of this happening are slim, and I will retract my former proposition.”

John and Jade take this poorly, but the rest of the table agrees.

“You say we need to leave,” Rose says, looking to John, “How do you suggest we do this?”

Running his fingers through his messy black hair, John offers little more than a shrug. “I don’t know. I can ask around, and I might be able to find a way out…”

After this, the table falls silent. Whereas such gatherings are usually filled with jovial discussion and laughter, this one is now tempered with poignant uncertainty. Rose can feel it, and it weighs down the air like lead. The life everyone has known is crumbling, and there’s little anyone can do to stop it.

* * *

**25 JAN 2251:** When Dave wakes, he can see the chaos unfolding from the front window. A massive pillar of smoke rises from the city’s center, where the capital building should be, and the television displays the carnage. People lay on the ground, the dead mingling with the injured, and the majority of the heart of Skaia has bee obliterated. No one knows what happened, who did it, or how it was done. All that anyone can understand is that the peace has been broken, and the city is about to be plunged into war.

No one else is awake, and the rising cloud of inky black is set against an otherwise beautiful sunset. A knot has formed in Dave’s throat, and the only way he can think to rid himself of it is to call John. He does so with difficulty, his nerves causing him to fumble with the phone. When he finally manages to dial the number, he’s met by an equally frantic voice.

“Dave? Dave, is that you?” John coughs.

Dave manages a huff of confirmation.

“I’m fine, and I’m getting the hell out of here. My apartment’s been wrecked. Would you mind if I stay with you?”

Another huff.

John offers a sigh of relief. The sound of crumbling concrete and booming loudspeaker orders, their words garbled beyond understanding, echo in the background of the call. “The subways are kind of fucked, so I might be a while. Don’t worry about me, dude, I’m fine. I’m more worried about what’s going to happen from here. I’ve caught a cab, and we’re trying to get out, but we’re about to go into a tunnel and—” As if on cue, the call cuts.

Dave remains frozen in place, with the phone still pressed to the side of his face. The dial tone reverberates in his mind, serving as the morbid soundtrack to the realization that his life will never be the same. His heart pounds in his chest, and the sound of distant sirens joins the cacophonous fray. It’s a frenetic, stomach-churning song of destruction. Like fine, fragile glass, the world he’s always known is shattering. The pieces are scattering across time and space, and he knows he has no hope of ever recovering them all.

Everything that Dave Strider has ever worked for—the past year of blissful normalcy, which he’s spent his whole life coveting—is gone. And, yet, he finds himself thinking of Karkat. This android, who he’s known for less than two months, reminds him of what he strives for. He’s a reassuring constant in a sea of ebbing, tumultuous discord. The image of his face—the light brown skin and bushy brows and oft-furrowed brows—fills Dave with an otherworldly sense of calm.

And, at this moment, Dave makes a promise to himself. No matter what happens, he will survive. He will protect this android with his life.


	18. Concerto ~Brotherhood~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm being lazy this chapter. It's from FMA.

**27 JAN 2251:** For safety, everyone has gathered in Anvil Repairs. John’s home was burnt down, and Jade’s farm was forcibly shut down by the government. Her supplies were confiscated, presumably to be given to the military. Not that this is doing any good. Through the cracks between the wooden boards over the windows, Rose can see the turmoil. People are armed and angry. They march up and down the streets, calling for the ejection of all artificial life.

“There’s a riot two blocks down,” Jade says. She clutches a potted sprout of a tomato plant to her chest. From what she’s said, it seems to be the only thing she managed to salvage from her home. “They’re getting closer, and they look pissed.”

_“The safe room is the only place left,”_ Dave comments.

Karkat nods in agreement, as does John.

In silence, the group moves into the hidden storage space.

* * *

**27 JAN 2251:** Dave Strider can hear the sounds of his life falling apart. Glass shatters, wood splinters, metal groans, and electronic components seem like the scampering of paws across the floor. Voices decry the existence of the shop, deeming it a danger to civilization.

“Hate breeds hate, I guess,” John says, his voice strangely somber. There’s no trace of his usual smile; instead, he looks sad. His gaze is locked on something distant, which Dave can’t see or understand. “It’s over, now, isn’t it? The city is a lost cause.”

“Our best option now is to flee,” Kanaya says.

Rose nods.

Karkat, however, distances himself from the conversation. He wanders to the corner, where Dave has sequestered himself, and sits down. “What’s got you tied up in fucking knots?” he asks, raising a singular brow.

Dave shrugs. He pulls his knees to his chest and sighs. _“Everything I know is ending,”_ he responds. _“I’ve only just begun to see the world, and it’s ending. This is absolute bullshit. If someone told me this would happen, I would’ve let Bro kill me a long time ago.”_

Karkat tuts. He shakes his head and wraps an arm around Dave. The touch is rough, nothing like the gentle and reassuring embrace he receives from Rose. “Everything ends. That’s how this stupid, shitty world works. There’s no way to know what’s going to happen tomorrow, and that’s probably for the best. If you spend all your time wallowing in the cesspool of the future, you’ll just run yourself fucking ragged.

Another shrug. Dave signs nothing, but he can think of what he would say aloud. “Yeah,” he wants to say, “Whatever.” He wants Karkat to hear the skepticism in his voice, and for the world to know his frustrations. For years, he’s been silent; he’s been content with this silence. Yet, now, as reality seems to crumble like clumps of ash between his fingers, he wants to speak. And, if he weren’t as self-conscious, he might. But, for now, he resigns himself to lazily signing, _“Yeah. Sure.”_ In his head, the words are unique; when he signs, they’re the same.

“Think of it this way,” Karkat proposes, “We can leave. You and I will get the fuck off of this godawful hell ship, and we’ll make something of ourselves. Trust me, Strider.”

Dave chews on his lip. He closes his eyes, and thinks about everything he’s seen. Everything he’s known. As a child, he trusted no one. From the moment he was born, it was him against the world. Now, he has a chance. It’s standing in front of him, offering him a hand and a promise.

Time seems to slow.

His mind races, and his heart pounds against the walls of his chest. Finally, he opens his eyes. With a mixture of relief and reluctance, he smiles. He holds his hands just below shoulder level, away from his body, with the fingers loosely flattened. The palms face up, and his left hand crosses over his right wrist. He pulls this formation slightly inward, and curls his fingers into fists. Then, he points to Karkat. ( _“I trust you.”_ )

* * *

**27 JAN 2251:** There are no windows in the safe room. The walls are pure metal, covered by a thin layer of peeling wallpaper. However, if her clock display is to be trusted, the time is around 11:00 PM. The sounds of chaos rage on outside, and it reminds Kanaya of another time.

Another place.

She can see the orphanage, a sturdy brick building with flourishing scroll accents. Once, it sat on a hill, which overlooked a pleasant, rocky beach. The tide washed against the shore, and the ocean breeze blew at the backs of the children as they played. Gulls nested on the roofs.

Yet, over time, the shore disappeared. The gulls flew further inland. The ocean breeze turned to a near-omnipresent gale, whose punishing winds would batter and bruise the aging building. Like an inexorable monster, the sea crept up, engulfing the land. It lapped at the hill, and eventually reached the front steps. And, like this, it would remain for many years.

The children grew accustomed to this strange new existence, as an island amid a sea of flooded coastal ruins. Dunes were erected, and patches of land were carted in to make a bridge to the mainland. Spacious rooftop areas were converted into impromptu gardens and outdoor play areas. All was peaceful.

Then, the waters once again began to rise. The formerly placid currents grew turbulent, and the waves began to lap against the walls of the building. One by one, floors were condemned. The basement. The ground floor. The second floor. Entire wings were hastily relocated, and dormitories grew crowded and cramped. The jovial atmosphere turned dim, and the laughter that once filled the halls was replaced by sobs.

By now, she was old. Her dream had dissolved, and was being lost to the unstoppable forces of nature. She summoned the national guard, who evacuated the entire orphanage, but succumbed to old age shortly thereafter. Yet, now, she remembers why she exists. She remembers why she had donated her memories.

One day, she hoped to see the sea levels return to normal. She wanted to see the orphanage, or what remained of it, regardless of what she had become. She wanted a chance to redo, to rebuild her dreams in another time, and another place. And, if she can escape Skaia, she might be able to do just that…


	19. While my Guitar Gently Weeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[While my Guitar Gently Weeps](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_zagM1Memfw)"** by Regina Spektor, _Kubo and the Two Strings_ (2016)

**28 JAN 2251:** Karkat Vantas sits in the corner of the tiny safe room. His back rests against the metal wall; if he could feel it, he’d imagine that it would be cold. Dave’s head rests against his shoulder, and he likes to think that the hairs brushing against his face are soft. He tries to imagine how it feels—the gentle rise and fall of Dave’s chest, and the gentle touch of his twitching fingers as he sleeps.

“Look at that idiot,” John tuts, smiling, “He’s out like a light, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Karkat says, softly. He nods.

Rose, too, smiles. She folds her arms across her chest and leans against Kanaya. As the other android strokes her hair, she speaks up. “He’s always been prone to falling asleep in stressful situations. It’s a strange quirk of his, it seems.”

“I second that,” John interjects.

Jade snickers. She sighs. For some reason, her eyes wander. She focuses on a fly, which buzzes carelessly around the room. “What he needs is a good night’s rest, and I doubt he gets those often.”

“Really?” Karkat finds himself frowning. He’s always thought of Dave as a laid back person—someone who let things roll off him like water from a waterproofed windshield. And, now, it seems that this was a farce.

Rose goes on to prove it. “He has a tendency towards nightmares. I suppose they’re PTSD, as they seem to relate to his experiences with Bro.”

As if on cue, Dave stirs. He whimpers, and he tries to form words. Sounds escape him, yet they have no intelligible order. At some point, however, he manages to utter one thing, “Help.” Then, he falls silent. His muscles flex, as if he’s tightly grabbing Karkat’s torso, though the android doesn’t feel it.

“I wonder what will happen to us…” John muses aloud.

Jade shrugs. Though she offers a bright smile, her words are tinged with a poignant sense of finality. “We won’t know until it happens.”

From the sage, tranquil smirk on Rose’s face, she seems to agree. “Life is a labyrinth of interwoven complexities. We will never understand the future, nor can we predict it. The best we can do is to make peace with our eventual end, and accept what’s to come.”

“Wisely spoken,” hums Kanaya.

Karkat, however, is less impressed. He furrows his brows and folds his arms across his chest. Without really thinking about it, he begins to gently run his fingers through Dave’s hair. (By appearance, alone, it seems to be dirty and oily. If he could feel it, he’d think it would be rougher than usual, perhaps even a bit tangled.) “Well, that’s fucking lovely. Write that shit down in the book of prophetic bullshit, but I’m worried as hell.”

“That’s fair, Karkat.” The other blonde shrugs. “Fear of the future is common, and I don’t expect you to rid yourself of it. In fact, a healthy dose of fear is good. What I am cautioning against is attempting to tell the future, or trying to divine from the past what will happen tomorrow.”

“This is all way over my head,” John admits. “I just think that we need to be finding a way out of here, and we’ve got to do it fast.”

“A rush order for a boat off of this fake island,” Jade volunteers her commentary, and it’s tainted with her usual brand of cheer. She clasps her hands in her lap and chuckles. The sound is soft and airy. “The next boat out of here. I’m sure you could find one, right?”

Though there’s a moment of hesitancy, John eventually nods. “I guess… I know people, at least, and people are already trying to leave.”

Karkat scoffs at this commentary. “Of fucking course they are, Egbert! This place is falling to shit, and we’re just hapless, skittering ants. We’re just bumble-fucking around trying to survive, while the gluttons at the top are smooth sailing out of here.”

To this, Rose responds with a grin. “You seem to be adopting some of Dave’s colorful comparisons into your vocabulary.”

If androids could blush, Karkat is sure he’d be doing so. “I…” he stammers. He fumbles with his words, but eventually manages a coherent comment. “I _am not_!”

Rose rolls her eyes.

John and Jade make poor attempts at stifling their laughter.

And, as the cherry on top of the bowl of embarrassment, Kanaya offers a wry grin. “Of course not,” she says, her voice thick with sarcasm.

* * *

**28 JAN 2251:** By noon, Dave has woken up. He paces anxiously, and Rose feels as if he’s trying to create a rut. The path is rigid. Ten paces forwards, then ten paces back. On and on. The pattern continues, as does the hand-wringing. And, by now, she’s grown tired of it. She knows she can’t calm his fears, but she can at least distract him. “You and Karkat are a thing, are you not?”

Now, Dave pauses. He shrugs. Before saying anything, he lowers his shades, so that they cover his eyes. _“I guess so…”_

Karkat, too, takes note of the conversation. He, too, shrugs. “I fucking guess.”

Rose nods. She folds her arms across her chest and waggles her brows. “So, what do you plan on doing? When you escape, what shall you make of yourselves?”

 _“Hell if I know,”_ Dave signs. Though she can’t see his eyes, Rose feels as if he’s looking directly at her. _“Maybe I’ll make another shop. Maybe I’ll chase after that elusive music career I’ve always dreamed of. You’re the one who always says I worry too much. So, I’ve stopped worrying.”_

Though Rose laughs, it’s dry. She imbues the reply with as much sarcasm as possible. “Don’t be such a smartass, Dave.”

 _“That’s hard, considering that’s my personality.”_ Waggling his brows, Dave steps forward. He leans into Rose’s space, and a cocky grin spreads across his face.

This manages to draw a stifled snicker from Karkat.

And, from Rose, it pulls a disgruntled sigh. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Must I really deal with your asinine shenanigans?”

Now, it’s Kanaya’s turn to speak. From where she’s standing, with her ear against the wall, she interjects, “I would say not. The sound has died down. The riot is over, and the coast is clear. At least, for now, we’re safe.”

From everyone in the group, there’s a collective sigh. Held breaths, each tainted with a lifetime of anxiety, are released. Yet, at the same time, there’s a growing sense of dread.

* * *

**28 JAN 2251:** Dave understands that his reaction is unreasonable. He knows that there are more important things than his material possessions. He’s alive; Rose is alive, as are his friends. Yet, he can’t help but mourn his losses. His hands dig into the rubble, and his fingers bury themselves in soft, crumbling ash. Tears sting his eyes, threatening to fall without restraint; not that he’d let that happen. He sets his jaw and closes his eyes. The air still smells of decay, and smoke rises from smoldering piles of trash.

A series of electronic whirs. A quiet hum. Karkat kneels beside Dave, and he throws a reassuring arm over the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “This fucking sucks.”

 _“You’re telling me,”_ Dave tries to maintain his usual air of disinterest. The last thing he wants is to let his usual facade crumble. Now, more than anything, he needs to keep up the trademarked Strider face. If anything, he feels a duty to Rose. _“This place was everything I knew. For the past year, this was my home. And, now, it’s gone. They don’t give a shit about who they hurt, do they?”_

“Of course not,” Karkat tuts. “They’re just being provocative pieces of shit. Who knows what they really want? Wealth, power, influence? They already have all that, and it’s unreasonable for them to ask for even more. So, what’s the point?”

 _“There is none,”_ Dave’s answer is backed by sincerity and realization. His brows furrow.

“Exactly.” Perhaps realizing that his speech is working, Karkat nods. He helps Dave to his feet, and offers him a nervous smile. “You have all the time in the world to rebuild. Those fuckwits, the ones who did this? They’ll probably be mowed down like fucking grass; the people above them will kill them without a second thought. So, what do they have left?”

Dave pauses. He raises his hands to respond, only to throw himself forward. He buries his face in the rough cloth of Karkat’s vest, and he sobs. Years of repressed anguish pour out, souring the already faded fabric. And, in spite of what he was always taught, it feels good. There’s an unbelievable amount of relief in the action, and he finds himself unable to stop. He clings to the android like a lifeline, and refuses to let go.

Karkat doesn’t mind. He wraps his arms around Dave, and lets him remain where he is.


	20. Winds over Neo-Tokyo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Winds over Neo-Tokyo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-q4w2QHL8oA)"** by Geinoh Yamashirogumi, _AKIRA_ (1988).

**29 JAN 2251:** “We really should consider leaving,” Rose says. She stands in the corner, her arms crossed. “This place is getting increasingly dangerous. There’s no reason for us to stay here beyond personal attachments and, in a time like this, those are dangerous things.”

“Thank you for that input, Rose, I’ll consider it when hell freezes the fuck over.” Karkat rolls his eyes. He, too, folds his arms across his chest. His brows are furrowed, and his jaw is set. His foot taps rhythmically against the hardwood floor. If Rose’s assessment is correct—and it often is—he’s not buying this explanation. His words only solidify this presumption. “Look, I’m fully aware that you and Dave have perfectly fine chances to leave and continue living fucking dandy lives, but I’m not so sure they’d let Kanaya and I waltz out without a word.”

Kanaya, from where she sits atop a thoroughly ruined sofa, shrugs. “I believe we could easily leave, as long as we’re in working order. What they want is workers. As bad as it sounds, they won’t be letting those who can’t hold their own out of the city.”

Now, Jade speaks up. Her lips are turned downward, forming a small frown. Nonetheless, when she speaks, her usual optimism is there, and it shines through with an unabashed brilliance. “Yeah, Karkat, think positive! I’m sure we’ll all get out of this fine!”

John, from his seat at the bottom of the staircase, nods in agreement.

And, finally, Dave offers his input. He, however, has a less cheerful outlook. This isn’t surprising to Rose; Dave has always been a realist. _“It will take some negotiating. They won’t just let us take up seats for you two,”_ to indicate the topic of his commentary, he simply points. First, he gestures to Karkat, then, to Kanaya. _“What we’ll have to do is keep your identities under wraps. That’ll probably be easy, as long as no one is paying much attention. Some sunglasses might help.”_

“In a situation as calamitous as this, I don’t doubt that the orchestrating members of the evacuation will be distracted. They’ll be more worried about preventing terrorist attacks and property damage,” Rose advises. She takes a sip of tea, which she brewed only minutes ago. The flavor is subtle, but bitter. It brings her down to earth, and clears her mind. It helps her thoughts form quickly, and they slide from her lips as easily as the warm beverage goes down. “The problem we’ll have, in my opinion, is the general populace. We’ll need to ensure that they’re sufficiently distracted, and that’s a matter of luck.”

 _“Yeah, and when the hell have we had luck?”_ Dave scoffs. He scowls, then buries his hands in his pockets. From experience, Rose knows that this means he’s done discussing the issue. Further proof of this comes when he turns and departs, wandering up the charred remnants of the staircase.

Karkat, with a look of poorly masked concern spread across his face, also departs. He follows Dave.

Kanaya tuts. “Those two are something, aren’t they?”

John laughs. “Dave’s always been a bit moody. It’s his thing. Who knows what’s going on his head?”

“I believe he’s distraught. Currently, he’s invested much of his personal identity and a great majority of his thoughts into Karkat. He’s dealt with a plethora of losses, and I’m not sure he’d take this one well.” Rose sighs. To clear her mind, she takes another sip of tea. This time, she drinks a bit too much, and it burns her tongue. However, she doesn’t let her discomfort show. Instead, she continues, “Consider his past. Dave is an intensely private person.”

“Yeah, I have to agree. I’m worried,” mutters Jade.

At this point, John seems to grasp the reality of the situation. His small smile frowns, and his gaze drifts downward.

An uncertain, uncomfortable silence falls upon the group. It settles, like stagnating fog in a valley, and it smothers. To Rose, the unpleasant atmosphere is like a bad smell. It’s annoying, but not unbearable.

However, the others seem to disagree. One by one, they leave. First, John. Then, Jade.

Alone, sitting alongside Kanaya, Rose buries her face in her hands. She feels an arm around her shoulder, and leans her weight against her girlfriend.

* * *

**29 JAN 2251:** The announcement, which is being broadcast across the entire city via loudspeaker, hits Dave Strider like a bullet. His thoughts stagger beneath its weight, and he reels at the realization of its consequences.

“Attention,” a loud, booming voice says. It’s masculine, deep, and has a rasping, gruff quality, as if the speaker smokes several packs of cigarettes per day. “Citizens of Skaia are advised to remain indoors. Any demonstrators, regardless of their alliance, will be met with force. The military has been given full reign over the situation, and shall be commanded by local law enforcement.”

As this announcement plays, the sounds of gunfire echo up and down the narrow alleys of northeastern Skaia. Distant yells. Muffled sobs. Screams. Dave hears it all, and each noise digs into his heart. They feel like the sting of a blade, which is a sensation he’s all too familiar with. He covers his ears, yet the announcement still comes through; it’s too loud to censor.

“The Skaian government would like to remind everyone that they strive for the safety and wellbeing of their citizens. We will stop at nothing to maintain order in our beautiful city. If you are classified as a government official or essential personnel, under any Class A professional registration, please carry your identity cards. Your identity will be checked. Those in violation of this provision shall be killed.” The announcement stops, though Dave knows it’s about to repeat. And, as he expected, it loops after ten seconds of silence.

Yet, as it begins, there’s another noise. Just below his bedroom window, and likely in the street it overlooks, he hears a bang. A gunshot. Voices clash, though he can pick up fragments of the conversation. “Move the body,” one person says. “The next dissenter ends just like this bastard,” says another.

Dave groans. He buries himself beneath his bedsheets, only to hear the door to his room open. As he prepares to retaliate, he hears a voice.

“Strider,” says Karkat.

 _It can’t be anyone but him. Not with that voice._ As this thought crosses Dave’s mind, the android continues.

Though Karkat doesn’t actually perform the action, he makes the sound of clearing his throat. “Strider, are you okay?”

Dave doesn’t respond.

Karkat, meanwhile, approaches. He doesn’t attempt to violate Dave’s privacy; he leaves the covers in place. However, the shifting of sheets and the gentle pressure at Dave’s back tells him that Karkat is sitting on his bed. Through the comforter, he feels a hand on his shoulder. And, then, there’s silence.

It’s comfortable. It’s amicable. It’s a silence Dave has never known and, for the first time in his life, he feels at peace. Despite the chaos raging just outside his bedroom window, he feels safe.


	21. Never an Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Never an Absolution](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3y5DWFYnBNg)"** by James Horner, _Titanic_ (1997)

**30 JAN 2251:** The walls of Anvil Repairs are bare. Drawers hang open, spilling what meager remaining contents they possess onto ash-dusted hardwood floors. Tattered clothing is strewn like confetti, and bags litter the space. Anything capable of being used as a container is out. Slowly, each vessel is filled.

Dave Strider stands in the middle of his old work room. He cradles a small photo in his hands. In it, there are four people. Two babies—a boy and a girl, both with golden blond hair—sit on the laps of a man and a woman. The man’s face has been ripped from the photo.

“Are we packing, or are we reminiscing like geriatric shit-streaked assholes?” Karkat speaks up. He approaches, and the creaking of the floorboards gives away his position. And, though Dave is too absorbed in the memories the photo in his hands brings about, he knows Karkat is staring at it over his shoulder.

After a few more seconds of thought, Dave wraps the frame in an old rag. He sets it atop a stack of clothes, which rest in an open suitcase, before turning to Karkat. _“I’m packing. Calm the fuck down.”_ A roll of his eyes punctuates his statement. He then turns and resumes his work.

Karkat, however, refuses to let the issue drop so easily. “Really, now? You seemed pretty fucking thoughtful. What, were you taxing the entirety of your shriveled raisin of a brain trying to remember what your own name is?”

Though Dave chuckles, he doesn’t reply.

Karkat pushes harder. “Really? Nothing!?”

Knowing that the questioning won’t stop until he provides some sort of answer, Dave turns to face Karkat. He breathes a long sigh and wills his hands to steady themselves. Though he prides himself in his composure, he’ll grudgingly admit that some things are able to break through his usual mask. _“My family life wasn’t always hell. Until I was four, Rose and I lived together, with our mother and father. We had a pretty nice life. It turned to shit faster than spoiled food gives you diarrhea after the split, though.”_

“Oh.” Karkat’s voice is surprisingly soft. His brows are furrowed, and he wrings his hands together. His guilt is palpable.

And Dave acts quickly to calm those feelings. He laughs, though it’s mirthless, and forces a smile. _“I can’t change the past, so it’s useless to think about it. I can’t keep crying over bullshit older than the defunct Declaration of Independence, right?”_

Though the look on his face suggests an unwillingness to accept this dismissal, Karkat nods. “Yeah… I… I fucking guess.”

An affirmative hum escapes Dave, and he returns to the task at hand. As far as he is concerned, everything is going with him. He’s worked hard to amass the little he possesses, and he’s not going to let it go without a fight.

* * *

**30 JAN 2251:** “This feels familiar, somehow,” Kanaya speaks candidly. Her voice is soft, her words poignant, and her lips form a small frown. “Packing up, I mean. It feels like something I’ve done before.”

“Well,” Rose responds similarly, speaking from her heart rather than her mind. This is a rare occurrence. While she often lets her heart offer its opinions, she rarely follows its advice. However, with Kanaya, she feels comfortable enough to let her emotions guide her. “You said that the Cherub Institute was overrun by rising sea levels, did you not?”

Kanaya nods.

As she folds one of her sweaters and places it into a trash bag, Rose smiles. “Surely, you packed your things there.”

“I suppose,” muses Kanaya. She lets her hands wander through her thick, curly hair. She chews on her lip and closes her eyes, looking like a perfect image of deep thought. “My memories are fairly clear, now. However, they’re not complete. There are gaps, and I’m unsure they’ll ever be filled.”

“Data, such as memories, can be prone to decay. When coupled with the aggressive blocks they placed around it, I’m certain it bodes poorly for all involved.” Rose’s smile turns to a frown, and she averts her gaze. She begins to invest herself in her work. Now, she busies herself with sorting her belongings. “However, you seem to have enough to work with. At the very least, you have a basic understanding of your past.”

“That’s more than there was to begin with,” Kanaya admits. Though Rose senses uncertainty and discomfort, she seems more content than anything. Her face is now relaxed, and a ghost of a smile graces her lips.

* * *

**31 JAN 2251:** As he sits in the back room of the main floor, where Dave and Rose once worked in private to repair robots, Karkat hears the front door open. The bells tied to the handle ring, and the floorboards moan. The creaking draws nearer and, driven by instinct, Karkat readies himself. He prepares a powerful punch and, when the door opens, he begins to follow through. However, he stops when he sees the face he’s about to bloody. “John,” he sputters. “John, dammit! What the fuck were you thinking, barging in unannounced!? Are you looking to get your face ground into a fucking splatter painting?”

“No, no,” John laughs. His eyes squeeze shut, and his grin is almost too wide and genuine for his surroundings. Amid the rubble of his best friend’s business, and against the backdrop of burning buildings, he laughs. It’s a series of graceless wheezes, and, despite observation, Karkat can’t help but find it charming. ( _Only John Egbert could find joy in this godless hell,_ he thinks.) After a few seconds, the laughter dies down, and John continues, “Sorry, dude, I assumed everyone would be asleep.”

“Robots don’t need sleep, you fucking nitwit!”

“Well, consider me stumped.” An innocent shrug and a sly, goofy smirk punctuate the statement. However, John’s expression quickly turns serious. “You’re the only one up, but I need to tell someone. I spoke with one of the more prominent members of my unofficial fan club. She said there are boats. They’re set to leave Skaia over the next few days, and they’re on a need-to-know basis. Of course, that means everyone and their dog knows about it.”

“Can we actually _use_ these boats, or will we be left to pick up the dead bodies and wade through the blood?” Karkat interjects.

Holding his hand up, John shakes his head. “Calm down, dude. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”

“We’re in the middle of a fucking revolution, dumbass! I’m not fucking calm!”

John shushes the irate android. He gently pats the side of his face, presumably unaware that his gesture isn’t felt. “They’re first come first serve. They’re not _really_ meant to carry many people, but it’s an emergency. Besides, no one is going to go around checking safety regulations at this point, right? That’d be stupid as hell.”

By now, Karkat’s fists are clenched at maximum strength. His vision is colored with a subtle red tint, indicating his mood in the most over-the-top fashion possible. When he speaks, his voice is similarly tense. “I fucking guess! Look, Egbert, what I need to know is how the hell you expect for this shit to pan out. What’s your harebrained plan, courtesy of whatever subservient bastards tend to the enigmatic depths of your hellish mind?”

John chuckles. “You’re a funny one, Karkat.”

“I’m not _trying_ to be funny, you fuck-mongering idiot!”

“I know.” A sigh concludes John’s commentary, and he seems to return to a more serious mindset. “The first outbound boat leaves on November third. There’s obviously going to be a bunch of checks and mandatory searches and probings, but getting your ass poked is better than being dead, right?” When this comment receives no response, John continues, “Look, we’ll get out of here. I’m sure of it. Trust me.”

Though he’s reluctant, Karkat nods. “I fucking trust you,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t really see another choice, so I guess I fucking have to trust you. Leaving my life in the hands of some prank-boning shithead isn’t exactly my idea escape plan, but it looks like the only one I’ve got.”

John nods. “It is.” As he says this, he turns. He waves, and he begins to ascend the steps to the second floor. “Anywho, that’s all I had to say. Have fun not sleeping, Karkat. Y’know, since you’re a robot and all.”

Karkat doesn’t respond. He lets forth an irritable growl, plops himself back onto the floor, and leans his back against the wall.


	22. The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[The Dark](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CST0gXDjwYE)"** by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, _Beethoven's Last Night_ (2000)

**31 JAN 2251:** Dave Strider hands his right hand up. It’s level with his shoulder, and the palm faces out. He brings the tips of his index and middle fingers to meet the tip of his thumb, and he does this with a very pointed amount of excessive force. ( _“No.”_ ) He repeats the action several times. _“No. No! No!”_

“God, Dave, _what_?” Rose responds to her brother’s antics with obvious exasperation.

And, though Dave is aware that his anxieties are unfounded, he can’t help but entertain them. _“It won’t work! It’s just not going to fucking work! We can bend the fuck over backwards as much as we want, but it just won’t work. This is like throwing butter out the window to make a butterfly. We can’t do it!”_

John and Jade share concerned glances, which are quickly followed by exhausted sighs.

Meanwhile, Kanaya speaks up. “Exactly what about this plan seems unreasonable?” she asks. Her inquiry is genuine, that much is obvious. Her words are spoken in a soft, calming voice.

Yet, Dave finds that he can’t calm down. He tangles his hands in his hair and huffs. At times like these, he wishes he had a voice. He longs for the power to simply express his thoughts as everyone else does, and for everyone to know the tone of his voice. As he knows this won’t happen any time soon, he continues to sign, _“Everything! You expect us to just waltz on into the crowd without any head-turning?”_

Now, it’s John’s turn to speak. And, as Dave expected, he defends his plan. “I get your frustrations, Dave, but this is the best shot we have. There’s not much else we can do, is there?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, Egbert has a point. We’re stuck in the shit mill, and we’re just fucking waiting for it to explode.” Karkat shrugs.

Dave releases a long sigh. _“I’m not saying I don’t trust you, John. You’re my best bro. But, I just think we’ll need to actually disguise these two androids.”_

“Do we have time to do that, though?” Jade asks.

“We have supplies,” Rose says.

Kanaya, now, interjects, “And we have the skill to do so.”

 _“I admire your eagerness to poke some fabric with a needle, but what I’m really getting at is some sick shades. You need something to cover your eyes.”_ Dave frowns. He closes his eyes and does his best to recall what happened to his spare shades. Though he rarely wears them, as they make signing difficult, he likes having them. They remind him of a happier time in his life, when things were simpler and his family was still together. He’s always kept extra pairs in his bedside drawer, though he eventually moved them to… _“The storage room! There’s a box in the safe room, and I have spares there.”_

At this point, Rose takes a moment to study both Karkat and Kanaya. She takes into consideration their facial features and shape. And, when he pictures what the two would look like, she can’t help but laugh. “Are you suggesting we stick shades onto these two and hope for the best?”

 _“It’s better than nothing,”_ Dave snaps back.

And, by the look in his eye, Rose knows better than to try and counter his demand. When he’s like this, the best she can do is go along with his suggestions. Though he’d never turn violent, he’ll inevitably grow more anxious; the last thing this plan needs is an anxiety-laden Strider throwing a wrench into an already unsteady system. So, she nods. She smiles. “Okay, then, we’ll do that. They’ll look a bit silly…”

 _“We’re not starting up a fashion company. We’re trying to survive.”_ Dave’s response is short and frank. There’s no sugar-coating, and there’s no consideration for the reactions it might cause.

However, it goes over smoothly. The group briefly falls silent.

Then, John speaks up. “Well, if we assume that everyone is distracted by how dumb our robot friends look, then we should be all set!”

“Are there any regulations on what we can and cannot bring?” Kanaya asks.

John pauses. His brows furrow briefly. Then, there’s a look of realization. “Not that I know of… I haven’t heard of it, at least…”

Again, there’s silence.

* * *

**31 JAN 2251:** “You really think that the escape will go as smoothly as John made it out to be?” Kanaya’s voice is quiet, as she’s doing her best to avoid Dave noticing her. From what she could tell, he’s upset and, while she wouldn’t consider herself his friend, she doesn’t want to exacerbate the issue. “I’m not saying we’ll meet our horrific doom, but…”

“I agree with you,” Rose answers before Kanaya can finish. When she turns, her eyes reflect her steely composure. Her jaw is set, and his brows are furrowed. She’s folded her arms across her chest, and her gaze seems to fall upon everything but Kanaya. “The guards will be biased, of course. I don’t doubt that we’ll meet some resistance from certain individuals, but it seems that most of the energy is going towards saving as many as possible. No distinctions are being made between humans and androids in the government announcement, so I doubt much attention will be paid to the disparities during evacuation.”

Nodding, Kanaya approaches. She sits down beside Rose. The bed sags beneath her weight, and her hands unconsciously wander over the worn surface of the bedsheets. “Whatever the case shall be, we should be prepared.”

At this point, Rose smirks. She reaches beneath her bed, then pulls forth a battered pistol. She hands it to Kanaya. “I have a stash of weapons, and I have no qualms about using them.”

“You can shoot?” Kanaya asks. As she waits for an answer, she studies the gun in her hands. It’s beaten up, but functional. The construction is sturdy, and it’s a reliable model. Though bullet guns cause more damage, laser cartridge units, such as the one she’s holding, are cheaper to maintain.

“Jade taught me. She also provided instruction to Dave, though he prefers to use blades. He’s similarly determined, though it seems to me he’s less likely than I am to use deadly force.” Rose speaks frankly. Her words are somewhat clipped, and Kanaya can feel the unwavering purpose in her voice. “Can _you_ shoot?”

“Certainly,” Kanaya nods. “All Kobian models are designed to handle combat situations. It’s a matter of safety. I am proficient in firearms and hand-to-hand combat.”

Though she says nothing, Rose responds. She nods. To Kanaya, it seems that she’s communicating something without words. “I trust you,” she seems to say.

And, with this thought lingering in her mind, Kanaya adds on to her reply. Though it’s unnecessary, nerves cause her to produce the sound of clearing her throat. A nervous smile crosses her face, though it quickly fades. In its place, there’s an anxious frown. “I will protect your life with my own, Rose.”

Again, Rose nods. “I understand. I have the utmost confidence in you.”

To Kanaya, these words are everything she’s ever wanted to hear. It stirs within her a strange warmth, which seems to rise from deep within her. She knows the sensation isn’t truly happening; there’s no physical means for it. However, she can’t help but acknowledge it. In fact, she embraces it.

* * *

**31 JAN 2251:** When Dave finally emerges from his cocoon of ragged bedsheets, he does so reluctantly. It begins with him swatting away Karkat’s hand, and ends with him sitting upright. His arms are folded, his hair bedraggled, and his face betrays the fact that he’d been crying. Nonetheless, he doesn’t acknowledge this last fact. Perhaps to hide it, he lowers his shades.

Karkat, however, knows better than to let the blond stew in his own introspection. “You know, it’s normal as fuck to be scared. _I_ _’m_ scared.”

 _“Striders are never scared,”_ Dave responds emphatically. His signing is rigid, and the motions lack their usual flow. Instead, his movements are rapid and sharp. Whereas his words usually blend together with a sort of ballet-like grace, each sign is now its own distinct entity. _“I’m not scared. That’s bullshit.”_

“You’re scared shitless, you goddamned dumbass!” Karkat exclaims. Despite his annoyance, he forces himself to maintain a relatively low vocal volume. Throughout his time with Dave, he’s noticed the man shies away from loud outbursts. (Though he suspects the cause is linked to his traumatic childhood, he has yet to confirm this.) “Dave, this isn’t something that should be easy. We’re not going for a fucking walk in Easy Park, you know.”

Dave shrugs.

Karkat continues, saying, “Just tell me what you’re thinking. You don’t have to admit your feelings. Keep chugging along on the shitty, crumbling track of toxic masculinity. I don’t give a fuck, but I want you to tell me what’s going on in that boiled down raisin that I assume to be your brain.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. Dave chews on his lip. He turns his head, revealing a scar, which begins along his right jawline and extends diagonally upward, until it’s hidden beneath his hair. Then, slowly, he reciprocates Karkat’s concern. _“I think John is being optimistic as hell. He always is, and it’s usually fine. All dandy as a dapper British gentleman in an outrageous top hat, with some sort of fucking weird fetish for puzzles. But, now, it’s annoying. I’m…”_ He holds his hands at chest level. His elbows stick out a bit, and his hands form fists, which are held parallel to one another. Though he briefly freezes, he ultimately follows through. His fists unfold, and his fingers splay out. His palms face inward, and his face is turned away from his conversational partner. ( _“Scared.”_ )

“There we fucking go! The truth comes out of Pinocchio’s godawful mouth.” Karkat throws his hands into the air.

Dave laughs, though it’s tainted with palpable anxiety. _“You’re a nerd.”_

“I know this.” Karkat folds his arms across his chest. He straightens his back and levels a pointed gaze on Dave. “And you say that like you fucking aren’t.”

A noncommittal hum escapes Dave. He shrugs. Though he doesn’t say it, Karkat knows he’s agreeing. At the very least, some part of the aloof blond has to agree with the truth.

“Look, jackass. You fixed me up, so I owe you.” Now, it’s Karkat’s turn to avoid eye contact. Though he doesn’t realize it, his hand reaches out. His fingers gently entangle themselves with Dave’s as he continues, his voice soft, “I won’t let anything happen to you, so don’t worry your ugly little face about it. I’m programmed to be able to deck a fucker to the next decade, so you’ve got nothing to be afraid of. Got it?”

A small smile precedes Dave’s reply, though he quickly stifles it. He nods. _“Then it’s a fucking pact, isn’t it? You have my back, and I’ll have yours.”_

“I fucking guess,” Karkat mutters.

A sigh comes from both men.

As Dave stares out the window, Karkat considers the future. There’s a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, though it’s not really there. There’s a churning. A sense of foreboding closes in around him, like a wave of water crashing down, pushing him deep into a pit of uncertainty. The world has never been kind to him, and he’s never felt a need to be kind to it. Yet, now, he does. Now, at the worst possible time, he’s found someone worth sacrificing his tenuous existence for.

And, at the heart of his fear, there’s a singular thought. It’s the realization that, no matter what happens, he is going to be so, so fucked.


	23. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Sparks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ah66Jji74Tk&list=PLBDDC70B0CEC14AF1&index=5)"** by The Who, _Tommy_ (1969)

**1 FEB 2251:** The harbor was once a major trading post. The streets were once crowded with vendors, who hawked their cheap, useless wares. Rose can remember, when she first arrived, people imploring for her to purchase their products. Fresh fish, useless trinkets, produce, and even tasteless souvenirs were commonplace. Now, it’s all gone. The few remaining vending carts are empty, their staffers long gone. Where they are is up for debate, though they’re likely dead or waiting for death.

In place of the commercial hubbub, there’s the beckoning calls of military officials. “Produce your government identification cards! All entries are subject to identity check!”

Behind Rose, John mutters to himself. He pulls out a card, which a government friend of his provided, and holds onto it tightly. He bows his head, clings to the arm of his glasses, and chews on his lip.

“You’re sure this will work?” Jade asks.

John shrugs.

Rose falls back, until she trails the raven-haired man. Though she’s never believed in luck or religion, she finds herself praying for some sort of redemption. At the very least, she prays that they’ll be allowed in. And, as the group nears the red and white striped gate, this desperate hope only increases. She feels a hand on her shoulder, and it applies gentle pressure. Though she doesn’t turn to check on who it is, she knows it’s Kanaya.

“You’re not Edward,” a weary guard addresses John. His pasty white skin seems to be pulled too tightly over his bony features. His lips are curled into a stern frown, and the patchy grey remnants of his eyebrows are furrowed. “Explain yourself.”

“He gave me an extra ID,” John says, digging through his jacket pocket. “He gave me this letter, too. It says that we’ve been cleared for evacuation. All of us.” Now, he pulls out a tattered envelope. A black oil stain mars its surface.

The guard is unmoved. Though he snatches away the letter, he doesn’t look at it. Instead, he raises the narrow gate. “Go,” he snaps.

John bows.

The guard shoves him forward.

In stunned silence, the group files through. Once she’s on the other side, Rose skirts to the side. She watches, taking note of who enters. John and Karkat went before her. Now, behind her, the rest follow: Dave, Karkat, Jade, and Kanaya.

And, as Kanaya enters, she offers a small smile. She reaches out, takes Rose’s hand, and leads her to the next checkpoint.

Though it’s only two yards away, the wait to get there takes some time. Others are in front of them and, as Rose watches, she sees that these groups are being separated. She assumes it’s for security, but this isn’t confirmed until it’s their turn.

“Everyone go in alone.” Another guard speaks. This one’s face is covered by an opaque visor. They jab their baton at John, who enters first. After a few minutes, they summon Jade. Then, another wait. Finally, they gesture towards Rose.

A rough hand pulls her forward, through the black curtain set in the middle of the ruined remnants of a two-story brick wall. In a flurry of movement and activity and barked orders, she’s dragged into a small makeshift room, the walls of which are made of corrugated steel. A staff of white clad officials, their faces obscured by sheets, buzzes around her like angry bees. They prod her. “Remove your shoes,” they command. And, out of a mixture of stunned compliance and realization (particularly of the fact that such action is necessary for her to survive), she does. “Remove your coat.” Despite the bitter cold, she does.

And, it continues. They search her pockets and empty her bags. From time to time, they’ll discard the contents. Her old family photo album is thrown into a growing pile of trash. “Too heavy,” one of the officials mutters, his voice colored with a thick German accent, “Not useful.” Similarly, her old kitchenware is discarded and deemed to be too bulky.

She watches in silence as her worldly belongings are handled without care and discarded without second thought.

When it’s all through, she is whisked away once more. She is led into a massive, open courtyard, which is surrounded by ruined walls. Looking out, she can see the churning ocean. Looking back, she sees a city of makeshift examination rooms, which are set against the backdrop of a burning city.

* * *

**1 FEB 2251:** Kanaya enters through the passage in silence. She shrugs off any hands laid on her, but makes no physical attempt to resist them. Rather, she dodges contact. She focuses on her surroundings, keeping a keen eye out for danger. Every sound is carefully parsed, from the distant shouts of violent upheaval to the quiet squelching of the mud beneath her boots.

Though orders are barked at her, she doesn’t really try to listen. Rather, she allows her programming to take over. When a command is processed, she follows through. This allows her to remain attentive to what happens. However, she takes note of what is taken from her. Various household items are discarded, as is the pistol Rose gave her.

If she had hair on the back of her neck, it would be standing on end.

“Ma’am.” A voice pierces her focus. From what she can see, the examination is ending; she vaguely remembers being told to leave. “MA’AM!”

She turns, and finds herself facing a man, whose visage is hidden behind a white mask. She can see nothing more than a pair of bright gold eyes, which are set in lightly tanned sockets. A blond braid juts from beneath his surgical cap, hanging to roughly waist level. Though he’s surrounded by otherwise robotic, uncaring civil servants, this man seems different.

When he speaks, his voice is similarly prominent. It’s filled with concern. “I shouldn’t let you have this,” he says, “And I would prefer that you not use it. But you’ll probably need it, at least to threaten people.” As he speaks, he presses something into Kanaya’s hand. “I need to go, now. I shouldn’t be here.” Now, he turns. He sprints from the space, and quickly disappears into the fray of white coats.

Kanaya, meanwhile, looks down. She sees a small pistol in her hand. It’s one of the older models, which fires real bullets, and its size allows for it to be easily stashed in her coat’s breast pocket as she leaves.

* * *

**1 FEB 2251:** “GET YOUR FILTHY LATEX-WRAPPED HANDS OFF OF ME, YOU FUCK-MONGERING BASTARDS!” Karkat exclaims, kicking against the multitude of struggling officials trying to hold him. “I can follow basic orders, dammit! Let! Me! Go!” A final kick frees him, and he falls to the ground. His fingers curl, producing an unpleasant, wet noise as they rake through watery mud.

“This one is something,” someone mutters.

Karkat huffs. He stumbles to his feet and follows the officials to a haphazardly thrown together stall. The walls are made of jagged wooden planks, and the entryway is little more than a dirtied shower curtain stretched over a poorly carpentered doorway. When he’s inside, he drops the bag he’d been given. He doesn’t care when it’s taken from him, presumably to be searched. However, he does care when he is ordered to remove his jacket.

“I have dignity, too, you shit-brained apes! I refuse to do some sort of fetishistic strip tease for your sick enjoyment,” he declares.

Despite this, he is forced to follow through. One of the many officials approaches. Though he puts up a fight, the button behind his ear is pressed. The shutdown display overpowers his vision, and the countdown to his inevitable unconsciousness flashes in angry red.

10…

“YOU CAN’T TREAT ME LIKE THAT, JACKASS!”

9…

“FUCK YOU!”

8…

“WHERE THE FUCK IS THE REST OF MY GROUP!?”

7…

“I HAVE THE RIGHT TO KNOW WHERE MY GROUP IS!”

6…

“WHERE IS DAVE!?”

5…

“DAMMIT!”

4…

“IF YOU SO MUCH AS LAY A FINGER ON DAVE…”

3…

“I SWEAR TO WHATEVER DEITY…”

2…

“THAT YOU BELIEVE IN…”

1…

“I WILL FUCKING…”

* * *

**1 FEB 2251:** Dave is the last to be summoned. Though he wants to fight, he lacks the emotional energy to. He allows the guards to cuff him, and follows them as they roughly shove him to an examination room. There, they refuse to unlock the handcuffs.

“Those hand signals,” one of the officials sneers. By the sound of the voice, Dave assumes they’re female. He deems her Ass One. “They could be a secret code. I’ve never seen shit like that, and I don’t care to see more. Keep your spy code to yourself. Now, remove your coat.”

Dave shakes his head. “I can’t,” he wants to say. Yet, he remains silent. His lips press together, and his gaze falls to the ground. He stays in this position as a knife is produced from one of the official’s belts. A soft ripping sound echoes off of the smooth plaster walls, which he assumes were once part of a small closet, as his jacket is sliced away. Now, he’s wearing little more than a thin undershirt and a hoodie. The wind is bitterly cold, and a sudden gust causes him to shiver. Still, he says nothing. While he would usually put up more resistance, he prizes his own survival too much to do so. He knows that resistance is dangerous; acting out will get him killed. Judging by the state Karkat was in when he was taken, he’s already afraid that his group has lost one person…

“Photos are useless. They take up space.” Ass One speaks, and Dave watches as his prized photo—the last image he has of his family before it fell apart—is thrown into a flaming metal barrel.

He bites his tongue, willing himself to remain silent. After a few seconds, he tastes blood. It’s metallic and warm in his mouth. He continues to taste blood as the affair continues. His knife is taken away, as is his notebook. Eventually, he is left with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a small, presumably standard issue messenger bag of clothing.

“Release him. He’s free to continue to holding,” Ass One says.

Hands grab him. Though he’s already cuffed, and his arms are stuck behind his back, the officials twist them. He grits his teeth as his shoulders pop in their sockets, and staggers as he’s carelessly shoved forward. His feet catch in the mud, and he falls. No time is given for him to rise on his own; he is dragged to his feet. Mud fills his mouth and clogs his nose, and he coughs and gags as he’s led onward. Each gust of wind is colder, now, as it brushes past his thoroughly soaked clothes. However, he takes comfort in the fact that Rose is safe. At the very least, John, Rose, and Jade are safe…


	24. Battle Against Clown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Battle Against Clown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KvseLO2apA)"** by Geinoh Yamashirogumi, _AKIRA_ (1988)

**1 FEB 2251:** The first person Rose sees in the crowd is Kanaya. With all her usual poise and grace, she steps into the dirty, panicked fray. She towers above most of the hunched over businessmen and government officials, and her vivid green eyes seem to lock onto her target. She smiles, and Rose’s heart skips a beat. As her possessions have been whittled down to what appears to be the standard—a small messenger bag—she’s free to leap to her feet. She sprints forward, elbowing her way through the crowd, until she falls into Kanaya’s arms. She buries her face in the soft fabric of Kanaya’s sweater. “You made it,” she mutters.

Kanaya chuckles. She steals a quick kiss, touching her lips to Rose’s cheek, before pulling away. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Where have you set up?”

Rose gestures in the direction she’d come from. Though, when she turns, she finds that her spot has been occupied. Now, a rotund businessman, his pink face seemingly blending into his white collared shirt, as if he has no neck, sits in her spot. She sighs. “Well, I suppose we’ll find a new place…”

Kanaya nods.

For perhaps twenty minutes, Rose leads Kanaya around the cramped space. The two stumble over squirming bodies and, eventually, the find a place near the harbor. The sand beneath them is wet, and it clings to every possible surface. However, Rose has a solution. She unfurls one of her many knitted blankets and lays it out on the ground. As she finishes doing this, she hears several familiar voices.

The first comes from Karkat. As usual, he’s loud. He doesn’t care who hears him. “Well, we found you two… Where’s your stupid brother?”

“Dave probably hasn’t gone through the checkpoint yet,” Jade says, shrugging.

Then, John speaks. His commentary is accompanied by his usual, toothy grin. There’s an energetic twang to his voice, and it trickles down to Rose, energizing her with every word. “Yeah, knowing him they caught him with a few hundred packs of cigarettes.”

Karkat is the only one who reacts to this. He snickers.

From here, the group gets reacquainted. A makeshift shelter is set up. Some old bedsheets are propped up on pillars of discarded brick and cinder blocks. Blankets and clothes are spread out on the ground, forming shifting, silty beds. Everyone huddles beneath this sub-par structure and, just as they begin to get settled, a final familiar face emerges.

Dave is covered in mud, though dried blood is visible beneath it.

As Rose expected, Karkat is the first to react. He rushes forward and wipes the blond’s face clean with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. All the while, he utters profanities.

Rose, meanwhile, turns to Kanaya. She eyes her over and, after some thought, announces, “The boat doesn’t launch until tomorrow. I assume we’ll be sleeping here…”

“That’s what it fucking looks like,” Karkat huffs, though he doesn’t turn to face Rose. He’s too busy tending to Dave.

And Dave, true to form, is trying to swat him aside. Though his signing is obscured, Rose can see some of it. She can guess that he’s trying to tell Karkat to leave him alone.

However, Rose isn’t keen on putting herself in the middle of this fray. Rather, she invests herself in sorting her belongings. She takes a blanket from her bag and hands it to Kanaya, saying, “I know you won’t need it, but I’m giving it to you, anyhow. If anything, you’ll find a use…”

Kanaya nods. She wraps the sheet around herself. Then, she leans her weight against Rose. Her hair brushes against the blonde’s face, filling her nose with the pleasant aroma of pressed flowers and cinnamon. Her fingers trace small circles on the back of her girlfriend’s hands.

And, at this point, Rose’s adrenaline rush comes to a screeching halt. She yawns, rests her head on Kanaya’s shoulder, and closes her eyes.

* * *

**2 FEB 2251:** Morning brings a cacophony of noise. Yelling, shouting, and barking. People press against one another, forming an ebbing wall of flesh. From where he’s laid out, sunken into the sand around the harbor, Karkat can see dead bodies. He knows that they’ve been trampled to death. He groans, closes his eyes, and turns away from the sight. At the same time, he nudges Dave’s shoulder.

Despite the shape he’d been in when he arrived, Karkat managed to clean Dave up. Now, only faded blood on his upper lip and a blackened left eye remain as a testament of last night. _“What?”_ His signing is sloppy and haphazard; he’s still waking up. The way his eyes are still half closed gives that away.

“It looks like we’re boarding. Or, at least, the officials are make some sort of a clusterfuck of an attempt at letting people on board,” Karkat says. His eyes are focused on the dock. He enhances the image and zooms in, until he can see what’s happening. There appears to be two officers, and they’re doing a poor job at controlling the flow of people onto the first of five ships, all of which are lined up bow to stern. Irate refugees, most of them clad in expensive suits and carrying massive leather bags, shove past these security personnel, and Karkat reaffirms his comment. “Yeah, this is absolute fucking chaos. This is a massive goddamned mess.”

 _“How much of a mess?”_ Dave yawns. He stretches his arms over his head, inadvertently punching a hole through the flimsy sheets. He quickly recoils. _“Shit!”_

“You can get new ones if we survive,” Karkat mutters.

Dave shrugs. Then, he looks around. His lips twitch downward, forming a small frown. _“Where’s everyone else?”_

“John and Jade already got onto the ship. They woke up before any of us, and they said they’re trying to save us a spot on the—” Karkat freezes. The sound of a foghorn interrupts him. He turns in time to see the platform lifting, and the first boat departs. “FUCK!”

Dave’s right hand forms an ‘O’ shape. He pushes it forward and forms a ‘K’. ( _“Okay.”_ ) He worries his lip. _“Where’s Rose and Kanaya?”_ To signify a question, he furrows his brows. His mouth opens slightly, and his shoulders rise.

Karkat, meanwhile, tangles his hands in his hair. A loud, exasperated groan escapes him. “They’ve left, too. They were trying to get some breakfast, which they had some pretty fucking limited quantities of. This entire shit-show was arranged by the least competent jackass fucker to ever exist on this blighted planet.”

 _“Tell me how you really feel,”_ Dave retorts.

“THAT IS HOW I REALLY FEEL,” Karkat counters. He topples the makeshift pillars around him, ruining the tattered remnants of the sheet in the process. Then, he stumbles to his feet. Though he scans through the crowd multiple times, he’s unable to recognize any of the faces. Neither Rose nor Kanaya are within sight; not even his facial recognition technology can find them. “God, this is a fucking nightmare.”

 _“That’s probably what they think,”_ Dave signs. He rubs his eyes with one hand, and gestures towards a nearby commotion with another.

Concerned, Karkat focuses on the scene. From what he can see, it’s a fight. Several men, all of them clad in standard work clothes—collared shirts, slacks, and loosened ties—are crowded around a fallen figure. Though he can’t enhance his vision enough to recognize what the object of their aggression is, he has a hunch. “Shit.” He grabs onto Dave’s shoulder and hauls him to his feet. “Wake up, Strider, we’ve got to go.”

Still groggy, Dave simply nods. He leans over, throws his bag over his shoulder, and grabs Karkat’s hand.

The latter action startles the android. If he could blush, he would. But, he doesn’t have time to dwell on this. The growing sensation of fluttering warmth is overpowered by adrenaline. He turns and begins to spring through the crowd, elbowing his way through. Though he mutters apologies to those he runs over, he knows there’s no way to help them.

And, in this manner, he manages to part the crowd. He manages to grow close to the harbor, where people are boarding the boats.

Dave worms free of his grasp, now. _“Who are they?”_ Using the facial expression indicative of a question, he points to the same mob from before. By now, he’s awake. His eyes are open and alert.

Karkat is, too, and he can see the mob as it closes in. As they approach, Karkat does his best to push his way onto the boat. _If I can get onto a boat,_ he thinks, _I’ll be safe._

“Shit.” The next ship leaves, its departure heralded by the booming of a foghorn. Three had left before this, including the first. Now, only a single ship remains.

Karkat’s gaze falls on Dave. Though it’s little more than a psychological effect, he feels as if his heart is pounding. His mind races, yet one thought dominates—Dave. His goal is to keep Dave alive. He made a promise, and he’s never been one to break a promise. So, he resumes his efforts. He throws his weight around, easily felling many frantic, fleeing refugees. Guilt swells within him, though he quells it somewhat by reassuring himself that it’s for a good cause. It’s all for Dave, which is, in his opinion, a worthy cause…

“Karkat!”

The android turns, and he finds himself facing Kanaya. She’s flanked by Rose, and the sight offers him some form of comfort. The two other people he cares about have made it this far.

“That mob isn’t exactly keen on mercy,” Rose comments.

Karkat rolls his eyes. “You fucking think!?”

Dave feels as if he sees it before anyone else and, perhaps, he considers, it’s because of his silence. He has no need for conversation; no one will understand him. Asking anyone to try and comprehend his words is like trying to lead a prideful man to admit his own flaws. There’s no use in listening to the multitude of people around him, for he knows they won’t listen to him. And, certainly, this one won’t. This man, —his brows furrowed and his blocky jaw set—who aims a double-barreled shotgun at Dave’s temple, will never listen to him. Yet, he tries. He raises his hands and does his best to communicate. He opens his mouth slightly and quirks his own brows. He points at the stranger. ( _“Who are you?”_ )

“This cogfucker shouldn’t be here!” the man declares, his voice seeming to rise above the cacophony of the crowd. “Take him off of this boat! Get him out of the queue!”

“FUCK YOU,” another voice rises to an almost unrealistic volume. It’s familiar. Smooth, yet hoarse. Powerful, yet gentle. A heavy arm is thrown in front of Dave, and a solid body pushes him out of the way. “You want to squabble like shit-eating strays over some fucking scraps? Be my guest. This jackass is just as entitled to a seat on this boat as you are, you entitled bastard.” Slowly, realization dawns upon Dave. Karkat, though short, could easily overpower the antagonistic protester. He has bulk and strength.

Yet, it seems the unknown man has determination. He laughs. Unlike other laughs, this one lacks any joy. His grip on his gun tightens, and his trigger finger increases its pressure. “Oh, and it looks like we have a volunteer. Should I show him what we think about artificial junk thinking it’s human?”

“Go ahead!” Karkat urges.

Dave groans. He opens his mouth, yet nothing comes out. He charges forward, but is pushed back by Karkat’s body. The android is too heavy to move, and he knows he’s far to stubborn to dissuade.

“I’m more than happy to,” the man responds with a wide, toothy, and mirthless grin.

Time slows.

Dave shoves himself forward. He reaches out, grabs onto the barrel of the gun, and shoves it upwards.

At the same time, the man fires.

Metal and artificial flesh buckle and twist. Shreds of soft, rubbery material fly in Dave’s face, and oil splatters like blood. Glass shatters, and the reflective lenses of his shades fly inward. Though this stings, the pain is nothing compared to the clattering of metal against pavement. A body falls backwards, and Dave staggers beneath the weight. Buzzing noises come from a thoroughly destroyed face, and the robotic parts beneath jerk and twitch unnaturally.

Simultaneously, another gun fires. Though Dave doesn’t know it, this gunshot comes from Kanaya. The bullet strikes the rioter, killing him. He falls to the ground, his blood mingling with the oil and fuel from the android he’d been so eager to destroy.

The crowd around him doesn’t care. As he sinks to his knees, they simply part. They shuffle onward, unaware of or indifferent to his suffering. Yet, amid all of this, a gentle hand rests against his shoulder. A female voice speaks, though it seems distant. “You… Dave, we have to leave. The ship departs soon. It’s the last out of Skaia. If we miss it…”

Dave buries his face in the still-warm fabric of Karkat’s jacket. At one point, the oil-stained coat belonged to him; he had stolen it from Bro. Now, it serves as a funerary shroud. Yet, he refuses to accept this. He fumbles with the gears and wires, which jut like tendons and muscle from the remnants of Karkat’s lower jaw. He tries to shove them back into place.

“DAVE!”

There’s no response. A poorly stifled sob escapes the shaking blond, and he gathers the android’s corpse into his arms. When he rises, and the world clears a bit, he finds himself facing Rose. While struggling beneath the weight of the android, he forces his shaking hands to respond. _“We have to fix him._ I _have to fix him.”_ He emphasizes his words with more facial expression and larger movement. _“Help me. Please. Help me.”_ He loses his train of thought, and ends with a vacant stare.

Rose, in reply, takes Dave’s hand. She leads him to the loading area.


	25. Back to a Reason, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Back to a Reason, Part Two](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EqHNktfDJ4)" ** by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, _The Lost Christmas Eve_ (2004)

**2 FEB 2251:** She can see it in Dave’s eyes.

She knows what he’ll do.

She knows his ways.

Still, she tries. With Dave tagging along behind her, she approaches the admissions officer, only to be stopped by an outstretched hand.

The official’s face is hidden behind a riot helmet, though their voice is clear. “Him,” they say, gesturing to Dave, “He needs to drop the android. It’s junk. It’s dead. You’re just taking up valuable space, now.”

Rose watches as her brother recoils.

His hand slips from her grasp, and he stumbles backwards. He shakes his head.

And, desperate to keep the last family she knows, she pleads with the official. “Please, this android could be repaired. He’d be useful for rebuilding what’s left of Skaia’s civilization.”

“He’s wasted space. Another refugee could be transported from the city in his place. Abandon the cargo, or stay behind. Make your choice,” thunders the increasingly agitated official.

Rose opens her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a tug on her sleeve. She turns, and watches as her brother does exactly as she expected.

 _“If I can’t take him, I won’t leave.”_ There’s no dissuading him, Rose can see that. Blood seeps from sporadically scattered wounds around his eyes, where the shattered glass of his lenses has pierced his skin. Yet, his eyes gleam with a determination she’s never before seen from him. His signing is rigid and formulaic; there’s no trace of his usual, flowing manner of speech. _“I’m staying here. Go, get on the ship. I will write when I can.”_

“Dave,” she begins.

Dave shakes his head. He offers her an apologetic smile. Then, he turns. He stumbles away, and quickly disappears into the ebbing fray of frantic refugees.

And, in silence, Rose watches. Though she’d only met Dave a year ago, she feels a poignant sense of loss watching him leave. There’s a deep, strangely powerful fear. It seizes her heart and twists her stomach into knots. And it retains its hold on her, even as the foghorn pierces the air. Even as the ship pulls away from the harbor, and the burning remains of Skaia fade into the distance, she’s filled with fear.

* * *

**22 FEB 2251:** Dave Strider stumbles aside. His mind is filled with a strange, useless haze. His vision is foggy, yet he can’t feel his own tears. All he can feel is the weight of Karkat’s body against him. He staggers under the load and, after what feels like an eternity, (but is, in reality, little more than ten minutes) he collapses. As he falls, he grabs onto the body, pulling it down with him. His back slams into concrete. A series of cracks echo in his ears and, judging from the pain in his sides, he assumes that they come from breaking ribs. The force of Karkat’s body slamming into his side on the way down wasn’t likely to have helped.

Far away, (though not truly that distant) he can hear a foghorn. It sounds once…

Twice…

Then, nothing. He hears the sounds of chaos around him. People demand another ship. They implore that they be allowed to leave the city. They offer unimaginable sums of money for a way out—for an absolution. And, if the pillar of smoke rising into the sky is any indicator, it seems to Dave that they won’t be getting it. At the very least, _he_ won’t be getting it…

He closes his eyes and sighs.

Then, he hears a voice. “He’s alive. Shit!” Steel-toed boots clatter against the concrete. From the sound, they’re moving away from him. However, the footsteps quickly return.

Dave opens his eyes. He finds himself staring at an unfamiliar man, whose face is hidden behind a white surgical mask. Though his hair is covered by a light blue medical cap, Dave can see golden blond hair. A braid hands from the back, and ends at waist level.

Though he attempts to move, Dave finds himself unable to do so. When he lifts his arm, pain rips through his body. He groans.

The man, meanwhile, studies him. His eyes are a strange shade of golden brown and, when he speaks, his voice is soft and pleasant. “You’re Dave Strider, right?”

Dave nods.

“John’s told me about you. He says you’re a right bastard at times, but your heart’s in the right place.” As he speaks, the man bandages some of Dave’s wounds. He braces Dave’s arm against a metal rod, then lifts him onto a stretcher.

Again, Dave attempts to protest. To his disappointment, he remains unable to.

The man, however, seems to know what he wants to say. “Your robot friend is in good hands. My wife’s an expert mechanic. She’ll take him back to her place and…”

“No,” Dave interjects. His voice is harsh in his ears, and he cringes at the sound.

“What?”

Dave wants to say more. He wants to tell the man to send Karkat to the Anvil Repairs safe room. He wants to thank this man for helping him, and to tell him to get the hell out of the city. Yet, he knows he can’t. Instead, he groans.

The man, in return, frowns. “Look, pal, you’re in no shape to be flailing around. Just lay down and go to sleep. That’s the best I can do for you right now.” At this point, the man chews on his lip. When he speaks again, his tone is apologetic. “This is going to hurt like shit, so…”

The stretcher is lifted.

Pain overwhelms Dave.

* * *

**DATE UNKNOWN 2251:** Dave wakes in an unfamiliar room. The walls are covered in dark green wallpaper, and the floor is made of a luxurious, vivid red wood. The brass sconces lining the space scream luxury and wealth, yet the bare-bones wrought iron bed he finds himself in speak of humbleness.

_Shit._

He sits up and, to his surprise, finds that his wounds don’t hurt. They still ache, and there’s a dull, throbbing pain throughout most of his torso. But, overall, he feels much better. His left arm is encased in plaster, upon which he finds a helpful notice to remove the casing on April thirteenth. This is written in neat, black cursive handwriting.

However, he sees no signs of life. When he finally extracts himself from bed, he finds the house empty. The front door is locked, though he finds the key in a sealed envelope on the desk by his bed. The windows have been boarded over, though the protective wood shows little damage. A fair amount of canned food and a can opener rest on the dining room table, alongside a note indicating that the entire supply is for Dave’s taking. A note on the front door bequeaths all that is left inside the home to Dave, too. Besides these touches, everything else seems to be left in place. Family photos remain on the walls, showing the man from before alongside a blonde woman with a ponytail. In other photos, the pair is accompanied by two sons. The main bedroom is in a standard state of disarray, and the bed is unmade.

Everything points to a sudden departure. Or, perhaps, a grisly end. Dave doesn’t want to consider the second option. The man was too kind to have died; if anything, he escaped on his own private boat. After all, doctors are afforded massive incomes…

Pushing aside these considerations, Dave forges onward. He grabs the largest bag he can find. From the bedroom, he takes a few articles of clothing—a few shirts, a jacket, some socks, and a pair of boots. Then, he returns downstairs. He loads all the canned goods into the bag, and grabs the key from the envelope. As he does this, he finds another letter.

> Dave,
> 
> We’re sorry for leaving you here. It wasn’t our choice. The government forcibly evacuated us, as we were deemed essential citizens. We did everything we could, and we hope you do well. We weren’t allowed to bring you with us, but it seemed to me you’re more intent on fixing that robot.
> 
> We made a pretty decent effort at fixing it up, but we just didn’t have the damned time to fix him. We returned him to the safe room of your shop. (Sorry for breaking into your safe room, by the way. I promise we didn’t break the lock.) We also left a whole shitload of supplies.
> 
> Take care,
> 
> E.E. & W.E.

When the full realization of the letter’s meaning hits him, Dave pauses. He folds the paper carefully, and stows it in the breast pocket of an old button up work shirt, which he had taken from upstairs. He folds the top flap over, and buttons it shut, securing the page in place. _Someday,_ he thinks, _I_ _’ll figure out who these people are._

He palms the key. The metal is cool in his hand.

Surely, he wasn’t out for long…

A long, heavy sigh escapes Dave Strider. For several minutes, he stands before the front door. He considers the possibilities. Outside, he’ll inevitably face a veritable hoard of lawless looters. He’ll face a wasteland, though he can’t understand the depth of its depravity until he sees it. But, if there’s a bright side, it’s Karkat. Outside, he’ll face Karkat, and he’ll have a chance to pay the android back for what he did.

He rests a hand against the door, turns the key in the lock, and, after enjoying a final moment of peace, he turns the knob.


	26. Epilogue: Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"[Blue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03qBqP2I4p8)"** by The Seatbelts, _Cowboy Bebop OST 3: Blue_ (1999)

**25 DEC 2256:** Dave Strider stands above the man he met just over five years ago, on a cold winter night. He recalls the first time he’d seen him, disheveled and worn down, standing on the doorstep to the pre-revolutionary shop he’d once shared with his sister, Rose. Now, he considers his place. He stands in the basement of the exact same store, but it has been rebuilt. With his bare hands, he’d scrounged for the supplies he needed to rebuild his old home. Now, it stands as a glorious hodgepodge of styles. The door is made of heavy metal, and pulled from the remains of a nearby restaurant. The roofing tiles are varied, supplied by the nearby remnants of stores. Likewise, the android before him is comprised of found materials. Gears come from everything from old cars to destroyed service robots.

Now, Dave faces the moment of truth. He presses the power button, and watches eagerly.

The android’s eyes open, and they glow a familiar, soft red. He groans and sits up, then meets the blond’s gaze. “Fuck,” he grunts. “FUCK!” He jumps.

Dave grins. _“Welcome back, dude.”_ He pats the android on the shoulder.

And, in response to the touch, the android frowns. “I felt that. Why did I feel that?”

 _“I gave you a few upgrades in the process of repairing you.”_ Dave shrugs. His expression is smug, yet the joy in his eyes is sincere. He makes no attempt to hide it. For the past five years, infrequent scavengers and relief agents have been his only company. Alone, feeding only on the scraps of food he can find and the meat of wild animals he can kill on his own, he has rebuilt this man. And, now, his efforts are paying off. Now, he wraps his arms around Karkat and sobs. This time, his tears are joyful. Relief flows from his body, cascading down his cheeks.

Karkat returns the gesture, yet accompanies it with a confused hum. “You act like you haven’t seen me in forever. What the hell, Strider?” He looks around, and reality begins to set in. “What the hell happened to the shop?”

Pulling away, Dave makes no attempt to sugar-coat his words. _“You’ve been out for five years. A bullet to the chest takes a long time to repair, and even longer when you’re using parts you find in the streets of a ruined city.”_

“What?” Karkat sputters.

Dave laughs. _“It’s a long story. The point is that you’re alive, and I’m fucking amazed that this actually worked.”_

“WHAT!?” The android repeats himself.

Dave shakes his head. _“The city collapsed in the revolution. Most people fled. We’re down to about 1,000 people, but that’s more than we had to begin with. I managed to become a leader, and I’ve spent years trying to make this place welcoming as fuck.”_ At this point, he grabs Karkat’s hand. He leads him to the door, and opens it to reveal what has risen from Skaia’s ashes. The skyline is no longer filled with skyscrapers. Now, it is a scattered collection of mid-sized buildings. Like the store, they’re made from a collection of varied materials.

And, as Karkat takes all of this in, Dave eagerly continues, _“Welcome to Skaia, the city that welcomes anyone and everyone! Are you a twenty-armed horror from the darkest depths of hell? You’ve found your new home in this goddamned shithole!”_

Karkat studies his companion, and Dave knows what he’s looking at. He’s seen himself in the mirror. The revolution wasn’t exactly kind to him, and his ideas were the subject of contemptuous debate; his face tells the whole story. A rugged scar runs horizontally across, forming a canyon-like depression. Lighter scars are scattered across his face, forming tangling webs of old injuries. Yet, out of all the injuries, he considers the worst to be the burnt skin, which covers the majority of the lower left side of his face. It pulls his mouth into a permanent scowl, and wrinkles his skin like old paper.

After some time, Karkat speaks. He reaches out, runs his fingers along the patch of scarred skin, and frowns. “Dammit, Strider!” he grumbles, his voice tinged with a strange sadness, “Why didn’t you leave?”

 _“I wanted to fix you,”_ Dave signs, honestly. _“I wanted to turn this hell into a utopia, and I wanted to make this place better. I’d be damned to hell before I left this city without you, and they wouldn’t let me on the last ferry out with you. So, being the stubborn jackass I am, I stayed.”_

“You’re right about being a stubborn jackass, you fucking twit.”

Despite Karkat’s commentary, Dave continues, _“I hid in the sewers. I was waiting until the sounds of fighting died down. When there was a lull in the combat, I came out like a goddamned subway rat and stashed you away in the old store safe. No one found you, but they found me.”_

“What the fuck, Strider?” Karkat insists.

Dave refuses to entertain the interruption. He’s already begun, and he’s determined to finish his store. He prefaces the next section by tracing the gash across his face. _“They did this, then told me to leave. I didn’t. I went back to the sewer. Eventually, the revolution died down. When I came out of hiding, it had been two months. The city was a deserted, dangerous wasteland. Maybe two hundred people had stayed. And, I started to rebuild. I rebuilt the shop, then I rebuilt you.”_

Karkat smiles, though sadness lingers at the edges of the expression. He wraps his arms around Dave, and buries his face in the man’s soft wool sweater. “You, Dave Strider, are the most fucking incomprehensible idiot I’ve ever met.”

 _“I know.”_ Dave grins. He revels in the softness of Karkat’s hair, and he spends several minutes running his fingers through it before breaking away. (He’s felt the android’s hair before, as he repaired him, but there’s something about it now that’s different. Perhaps, it’s the simple fact that Karkat is once again operational.) _“But I’m your idiot.”_

Karkat laughs. “You’re right there, Strider.”

Dave crosses his arms at the wrists, with his hands forming fists. Then, he points to Karkat. ( _“I love you.”_ ) When this is through, he once again embraces the android.

And, in return, the android responds. His voice is low and soft, but his words are clear and heartfelt. “I love you, too, you fucking idiot.”

* * *

**25 DEC 2256:** Rose Lalonde holds a glass of sparkling water aloft. A wide grin is spread across her face, and she looks out, at the table populated by her close friends. “To another year of good business,” she announces.

Jade, her hair now longer than it had been on Skaia, also smiles. She, too, raises a glass. In hers, there’s champagne. “And to a good harvest!”

“And to my wife!” Kanaya smirks. Though her glass is empty, she still joins in the toast. At the same time, she steals a kiss from Rose.

The blonde blushes. She playfully shoves Kanaya away and sets her glass down. Reaching forward, she picks up the platter in front of her. She places a fair amount of salad on her plate, then hands the bowl to Jade. She thinks about her life, and she considers how it’s turned out.

Over the past five years, she’s rebuilt her business. It’s been reformed. Whereas it was once a robot repair shop, it’s now a traveling restaurant. The ingredients are provided by Jade, whose gardening skills have only improved, much to Rose’s amazement. Kanaya formulates recipes and acts as an entertainer when one is needed, particularly when children are involved; moreover, the android pilots and helps maintain the function of the retrofitted houseboat.

Riverboat Respite is a hit; somehow, it’s always been a hit. According to its patrons, there’s an undeniable charm to eating on a traveling restaurant. Beyond this, it’s recently begun to serve as a regular transport shuttle. Various locales will hire the three person crew to cater to their needs, which often means hosting high-ranking government officials. Rose doesn’t complain. While she might not always agree with the people she hosts, it’s her job to provide them with a unique and wondrous experience.

“Rose,” Jade speaks up, breaking Rose’s introspective focus.

She hums inquisitively and looks towards her coworker.

In return, Jade hands over the business phone. “There’s a call for you. I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you who it is, but it’s Dave.” She punctuates this comment with a wink. The device in her hand has a screen, on which the image of the familiar blond is displayed.

Rose chuckles. Taking the phone, she answers, “Hello, David. What’s the special occasion? You rarely call.”

On the other end, there’s a disgruntled huff. Rose can hear the annoyance in Dave’s voice, but it’s overshadowed by exuberant joy. _“Dammit, did Jade tell you it was me?”_

“Of course not,” Rose sighs.

Dave waves his hands dismissively. He obviously doesn’t care about who gave away his surprise; he’s set on delivering his news. _“I’ve got some shit to tell you, Rose. There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”_

“God, Strider,” A familiar voice interrupts. As Dave freezes, with his hands still hanging in the air, Karkat storms into the picture. He leans over, shoves his face in front of the camera, and furrows his brows. He scoffs. “You’re taking too fucking long. Just tell her you spent the past umpteen years repairing me, like some sort of fucking hopeless fanboy.”

Dave tuts. _“I’d argue that it’s more hopeful than hopeless. It takes a whole fucking truck load of hope to try and rebuild your husband.”_

A startled yelp escapes Karkat. He shoves Dave’s shoulder, and Rose feels as if he’d be blushing if he could. “I didn’t give you permission to tell the entire world that we’re married, Strider. I just woke up _five hours ago_ , dammit!”

 _“It’s not the entire world,”_ Dave protests, waggling his brows. _“John doesn’t know yet.”_

“Yes he does!” Karkat thunders. Despite his flamboyant display of anger, Rose knows it’s fake. Beneath the act, he’s overjoyed; that much is obvious. It shows in the slight upward twitching of his lips and the occasional chuckle, which slips from him without concern. “You called the goddamned bastard and told him, even while he was in the middle of getting ready for a piano recital!”

 _“You act like he wasn’t excited for us,”_ Dave snickers.

Karkat groans.

And, sensing that she’s beginning to intrude on her brother’s romantic life, (which is possibly the last thing she wants to do on this particular Christmas day) Rose rolls her eyes. “Dear brother,” she says, her voice dripping with affectionate sarcasm, “I’m overjoyed for your recent development. Call again when I’m _not_ in the middle of my own celebration, alright?”

“Goodbye, Davey!” Jade sings in the background.

Kanaya offers a courteous wave, though she says nothing.

And, in return, Dave shrugs. He throws his arm around Karkat, and signs awkwardly around him. _“I got it, sis. I’ll call back as soon as your dinner is over. How about midnight tomorrow?”_

“How about no?” Rose hums. She knows what’s coming next. Dave is going to try and get another jab in and, before he can, she hangs up on him. She allows herself the luxury of a hearty laugh, then turns her attentions back to the meal. As her eyes scan the table before her, falling upon each member of her makeshift family, she smiles.


End file.
